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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170192">The New Matriarch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninnodesu/pseuds/Ninnodesu'>Ninnodesu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Brave, Captivity, Determined, Eventual Murder, Eventual Smut, Eventual cannibalism, F/M, Fluff, I'm new to tagging, Love, Murder, Never written anything serious before, Past Abuse, Tommy is a sweetheart, Upcoming relationship, eventual love, long story, past captivity, reader is strong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:28:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninnodesu/pseuds/Ninnodesu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After years in captivity, after years in a locked room - a room you more likely saw as your own box - you've managed to escape. You don't know where you're going, or if you'll survive for long - or at all - but with nothing more than a dream and the motto "I'm not dying here." you're off. </p><p>There's only questions in your future. Nothing more.</p><p>Even more questions when you find a home, and a protector.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt &amp; You, Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. No Longer an Animal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my first ever fanfiction, and I'm not sure how long it will be or where we end up. It's also a fem!reader since I'm a woman myself and not sure how to write for men, so sorry :c<br/>I've never written anything serious before but I wanted to give it a try since I've been thinking about a specific story for a few days now. </p><p>This takes place somewhat before the slaughterhouse closes down. So prepare for eventual murderings and cannibalisms and general Not Good Things.</p><p>Also: since these movies were played out around 1939 - 1973 my wording might be a biiit weird because I was born in 1992. So please excuse if I use a language that's "too modern"... </p><p>Trigger warnings:<br/>Abuse, a lot of abuse mentions. Will try to TW in the notes when severe abuse mentionings is gonna come up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pilot</p><p> </p><p>A <strong>Golden</strong> Behemoth - A <em>rescuer</em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>Running. Lungs burning like they were set ablaze. Feet full of cuts after nicking on branches and sharp rocks, wobbly legs on the verge of giving up and no longer supporting you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You stumble and trip over trees, and crash down on the ground. Your knees taking the brunt of the fall, sending jolts of sharp pain through your already wrecked nerves. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your knees hurt. Your lungs hurt. Your psyche hurts. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s only two things you know at this point; <strong>pain, and a dream.</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em> The bruises your captors had inflicted on you are nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve managed to break free from, a myriad of colors after years of torment. You stay put trying your best to rub away the worst of the pain in your knees before you know you need to keep on moving. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>I can’t stop, I can’t stop.</em> </b> </p><p>
  <em> The desperate thought echoes in your mind and you're off the ground again. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
You honestly weren't sure how long you'd been running but you kept hearing their voices after you. </p><p>   "<b>Get the fuck back here!"</b></p><p>Angry. Furious, even. You couldn't cry anymore. Your eyes were dry and they burned. Angry, red, and swollen<em> .  </em></p><p>After wading through a small creek - in hopes that the <em>dog</em> might lose your scent - you collapse behind a huge boulder into damp moss. You couldn't run much more, you really couldn't, you had to take a break, you needed to breathe, to steady your heart which you honestly believed would explode if you kept pushing it.</p><p>Even if you knew you had no family to go back to, you didn't want to die. Not now, not like this. Not broken in the woods with bruises and scratches. </p><p>
  <b><em>   "We own you!"</em>  </b>
</p><p>Your breathing was shaky and came out in hacking seizures. </p><p> </p><p><em> Relax. Relax. Don't make a sound. Breathe, remember to breathe. Don't cough, oh please don't cough. </em>You begged your body to obey you. Pleaded with whatever higher entity there was. You could still hear them. Screaming after you. </p><p>   "<em><strong>B</strong></em><b><em>itch, I will make you pay! We will all make you pay!"</em> </b></p><p>You felt the need to cry again. That familiar lump in your throat returned, but you suppressed it, your eyes were too sore. You knew that you most likely wouldn't make it if they found you, if they took you back there. To your chains. You wouldn’t live through that punishment, and you definitely didn’t want to think about it</p><p><em> That fucking collar, </em>you thought as you ghosted your fingers over your throat. The skin was raw and sensitive where the cold metal had been digging into you during so many years of captivity. </p><p>After minutes had passed without hearing any voices, any angry footsteps or even that blasted <em> dog </em>they had brought to sniff you out you peered behind you over the boulder. </p><p>That's when your heart froze. </p><p>
  <b><em>   "Found you."</em> </b>
</p><p>Suddenly you're up on your feet, sprinting. A new rush of adrenaline surging through your veins just seconds after your brain connected that you were staring into a gun. </p><p><em> I'm nothing more than an animal to these people, </em>you thought as you zigzag through a wheat field, managing to avoid bullets who flew past you, making you giggle slightly in your headspace.</p><p><em> This man is a really shitty shot </em>, you amused yourself when you noticed he hadn’t hit you once. You started to slow down to a jog when you couldn’t hear shots or angry barking and saw something starting to appear beyond the wheat field. A silhouette… of a <em> house </em>. </p><p> </p><p><em> A mirage. It’s just a mirage</em>, was your first thought when you saw it grow the closer you got to it, thinking it would disappear at any time. You really did think it was something your exhausted, dehydrated and mentally broken brain had made up. </p><p>Still, you headed for it. What else could you lose? If <em> they </em> caught you, you were dead. If not, you would die of starvation, or dehydration, anyway. Why not risk it? And for the first time since you escaped the cold box you were locked in, you felt it. In your heart, a small spark was born. A <em>dream</em>. You started dreaming again, dreaming about living. Dreaming about getting rescued. And you smiled again.</p><p>In the midst of being in a mixed state of dreamworld and real world another shot rang out and then pain. Searing hot pain and something running down your shoulder. As the bullet hit your shoulder you're on the ground again, screaming and cursing while trying to press your hand to the wound. </p><p>
  <em> Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! Fucking assholes! </em>
</p><p>   "LEAVE ME ALONE!", Your voice is loud, but hoarse and dry, you need water. </p><p><em>I don't want to die here.</em> <em>I can't die here. </em>You hear footsteps through the wheat and you decide to push forward again. Through the pain. </p><p>
  <em> I. Am. <strong>Not.</strong> Dying.  </em>
</p><p>You grit your teeth and groan as you manage to push yourself up to your feet. The house is closer now. It’s huge, to you it’s a mansion, a palace made of marble and gold. A sanctuary. A sob reaches your mouth.</p><p>
  <em> It is real.  </em>
</p><p>And suddenly, you see a figure. Someone is moving in and out of a barn to the side of the house, a lumbering figure.</p><p>
  <em> People. There's people there! </em>
</p><p>The light begins to grow even bigger and is tugging on your heart as you stumble forward the stranger.</p><p>   "H- help…", you try to scream towards it, but after you manage to scream while wallowing in pain in the field your voice can barely be heard. Your throat is too dry, it feels like pure sandpaper. You try to gather the small amount of saliva you can to wet your throat.</p><p>
  <em> One more try…  </em>
</p><p>   "Help!", you plead with a sob. You're crying again.</p><p>   "Please, help me!" It's louder now. Hearable. And you can't help but to smile weakly when you realize you were heard. The figure stopped in his tracks, looking around and searching for where your scream came from, and your heart does a double take when he looks directly in your direction.</p><p>
  <em> Yes! Here. Please look at me!  </em>
</p><p>The closer you get through your stumbles, the clearer the figure becomes.</p><p><em>A man. It's a man.</em> <em>And he's big.</em></p><p>   "Mist-", one leg gives out, exhaustion hits you and you fall on your knees. Your face turns to him as he takes two steps out of the barn towards your general direction. </p><p>
  <em> Please, look at me.  </em>
</p><p>You're up on your legs when you hear voices behind you again and you stumble toward the barn, towards the man you dream about being your rescue. </p><p>When you finally reach it, you throw yourself behind one of the walls inside and press your back to it. Breathing hard, you look at him. The man is big. He's huge. Much bigger than your captors. You try to focus on him, trying your best to distinguish anything more than broad shoulders and long hair. But you’re too tired, too tired to take any details in.</p><p><em> You look strong. </em> </p><p>You sigh in relief and scramble towards him in desperation.</p><p>   "Please… please help me." You reach out to him but he flinches and takes a step back, eyes scanning you and brows meeting in the middle.</p><p>   "I beg of you. They're chasing me. I need… I need help.", you look behind you from where you came from in fear and you walk closer to him, trying your absolute best to look smaller than you already feel and is, trying your best to convey your desperation and fear running through your body. <br/>
The footsteps are closer now and even the big man in front of you seems to react to someone walking close to the barn. He tilts his head, seemingly listening and following the sounds. You look up at him, eyes glossed over, red and swollen while one of your shaking hands reach out and up for his shirt, exhausted fingers grabbing on as best as they’re able to.</p><p>   “Please…”.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Marble Palace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You're invited into a palace. A palace made of marble and gold, with silken sheets and soft bedding.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Seems like the story is actually going places!</p><p>Trigger warnings:<br/>Memories of rape, and brief mentioning of rape!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thomas B. Hewitt.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em> I</em><em>t's…, Sunday? Yeah, it's Sunday. </em> He thinks before rubbing tired eyes to wake them up before squinting to the window that's cracked open.<br/>
The sun's up, but it doesn't feel as warm as it usually is, even early in the morning. Seems like today's going to be a milder day. </p><p><em>Good. I don't have to overheat and die. </em>He chuckles at his own bad attempt at a joke as he rolls out of bed. His back cracks in a symphony of newly awoken and hard working bones as he stretches, a grunt escaping his lips. He trudges over to his dresser and pulls one of the drawers out, grabbing the first t-shirt he sees. It’s gray and worn out with small holes in the seams under his armpit, but he knows they can’t afford to get new ones.</p><p><em> It will have to do, I guess, </em>he shrugs and pulls it over his head. Realizing he probably should have taken a shower first, but frowns. He knows it’s no point in showering before going to work in cleaning the barn. His mama asked him the week before if he could help clean the barn, she wanted to see if there was anything of value they could maybe sell at a yard sale to try and scrape up some more money. </p><p>Even though the scraps of meat rejects he snagged with him home after a hard day's work were enough, his mama was longing for bread and maybe some fruits and vegetables. And those were <em>expensive</em>.<br/>
So he promised her he would take a look and throw away obvious trash the next day he was off work. Which happened to be every Sunday. Before heading out he pulls his boots on and reaches for the mask hanging on a hook next to his door to buckle it on the back of his head. All the years he's been wearing it has turned his skill in buckling it to perfection and he fastens it while walking through the upstairs hallway, tired floorboards greeting him under his weight.</p><p>He stops suddenly at one of the stairs that makes a particularly alarming creak and bucks a bit,<br/>
“Hm…”, he bounces as carefully as he can to not break the board to test it. Making a mental note that he has to take a look at that specific step at another day. Hoping it’ll not break in the meantime.</p><p>With a yawn he enters the kitchen where his mama is preparing breakfast to the best of her abilities with what they've got, some sausages she managed to throw together with whatever scraps he could snag with him from work, and eggs. In his heart he thanks God that they still had chickens. </p><p>"Mornin', darlin'", she says as he walks up to her and nuzzles his forehead to her temple. A small hum from him to wish her the same. <br/>
"You goin' to fix that barn I asked you for today?", stuffing half a sausage in his mouth as he grunts. His own way of saying <em>“yes”</em>.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn’t like speaking anymore. Not since he carved on his face, a desperate attempt at trying to remove dead, and sick skin. He only knew pain during the healing period. And he lost a lot of weight at first, both speaking and eating only caused him pain. So he stopped talking. Doing his best to avoid unnecessary pain to his already throbbing face.</p><p><em> Yeah, don't worry, mama </em>. Even if Sundays are the only days he has off work, he's still happy to help. And today seems to be a mild day. Even if the sun's out it goes behind clouds from time to time. </p><p><em> Rather today than next week </em>. He thinks to himself munching away at his breakfast while looking out the window, not focusing on anything particular, leaving his brain a chance to wake up properly. Somewhere in the distance, he hears a loud burp, and then a door closing harshly, probably to try and wake up the last family member who was still snoring on the couch and then the sound of angry stomping wakes him up from his daydream and he lets out a small discrete sigh.</p><p><em> Great.</em>, he huffed silently at the sight.</p><p>His brother, <em> Charlie </em>, enters the kitchen. He reeks of both tobacco and alcohol,</p><p><em> Already? Come on, man…, </em> Thomas just makes a grimace behind the leather as he follows him with his eyes. Usually, it was when Charlie had alcohol still running in his blood that he barked orders at Thomas, so he was used to Charlie drinking not being the <em> best </em>of signs. He never really did like when he drank, even less so early in the morning. Sure, the slaughterhouse had a worse smell, but that smell he was used to.</p><p>Charlie plops himself down at the kitchen table and just violently stabs one of the sausages with a fork.</p><p>"Mornin', mama.” His twisted and crooked smile directed towards their mother, before his eyes drilled into Thomas and he returned the stare. A tired but fierce stare off between the brothers. “Remember what mama told you, boy. You're goin' to clean the barn.", Charlie nods at him with a really childish tone at the end and Thomas grunts a reply before looking away, annoyed. </p><p>"Leave Tommy alone, Charlie!”, their mama scolds him and lightly smacks his head with her towel. “He's already done promised me that he's gonna. Let the boy finish eatin' his breakfast in peace."</p><p>Thomas lowers his head and smirks behind his mask while looking down at his plate. Mama always has his back. </p><p>"Yes, mama.", Charlie's voice is low but he gives the big man in front of him an annoyed stare. <br/>
"Mama's boy…" he mutters under his breath before starting to eat the impaled sausage. </p><p>By the time Thomas has finished his breakfast, he hears shuffling from the living room and his uncle stumbles into the kitchen on tired legs.<br/>
His uncle has never really seemed to pay him much mind, so Thomas does the same as he puts his plate in the sink. All he does is give him a nod on his way over to thank his mother for the breakfast by giving her a small kiss on the cheek through his mask and rub her shoulder before heading out to the barn.</p><p>
  <em> Thank you, mama. </em>
</p><p>Outside, it's cool - <em> for once </em> - and he can't help but to close his eyes and relax when he feels a breeze caress the part of his face not covered up. He raises a hand and touches his mask, wishing he could feel the breeze on his entire face. But he knows better. Charlie would just harass him if he caught him without it. </p><p><em> Forget it. </em>He shakes that thought away and trudges over to the barn and gives out a loud groan when he sees how much he actually has to do today. </p><p>
  <em> I'll be sore tomorrow at work… </em>
</p><p>Hours go by. Lunch is over before he even realizes he's eaten it. The clouds have gathered over his head and he's afraid it'll start raining before he's done. On his way in to gather more junk lying around he hears something, a voice. </p><p><em> What th-....  </em>He stops, trying to listen and see if he hears it again. Silence.</p><p><em> Maybe I'm imagining things. </em>He shrugs, but then hears it again.<br/>
"<em>Please, help me!”, </em>He gazes out towards the wheat field, squinting eyes trying to see something. He still can’t see anyone, though. He’s sure he did hear someone. He turns to look towards the main house to see if it came from there, but nothing. Not his name, no sounds coming from the house that would indicate someone came to hurt his family. </p><p>“Hm…”, he takes one step, and then one more away from the barn, toward the general direction he thought the voice came from. His curiosity has peaked. </p><p>After a few minutes of silence has passed he’s suddenly startled and his head jerks toward one of the walls where he sees a woman. </p><p><em> What the he-... where did you co-, </em>his inner monologue is interrupted by her hoarse voice.<br/>
“Please… please help me.”, it’s hard to hear, but knowing how rough his own voice is after so many years of choosing to be silent he’s learned to distinguish words. Seeing her walk towards him makes him back up himself. She’s all beaten up. Hair is more of a mess than his own and she smells of sweat, blood and earth. She’s so much smaller than him in height, not that he’s particularly surprised, honestly. Clothed in something that looks like several  potato sacks badly put together through the years to accommodate her growth. She’s dirty, and it looks like she’s badly hurt. He just watches her at first.<br/>
<br/>
“I beg of you. They’re chasing me. I need… I need help.”</p><p><em> You look like you’ve been through hell...<br/>
</em>His eyes flicker towards the main house when he notices that she's not looking directly at him, but rather outside. Suddenly, he reacts to footsteps. Close ones and he turns his attention to them, tilting his head and listening to them. Following them. </p><p>Deep into concentration he feels small, weak fingers gripping the hem of his rolled up sleeve, tugging at it to get his attention.<br/>
“Please…”. </p><p>He lets out a sigh. <em> You must be truly desperate to reach out for me, lady.<br/>
</em>His head is directed towards a sound, and around the corner comes a man, and he looks straight at him as he takes a step in front of the strange woman, shielding her, Thomas stares at the man.</p><p>“Ah, good. I see you found our sister, there. I’ve been looking for her.”, Something tells Thomas it’s just lies. <br/>
“I can take care of her now. She’s uh… She’s <em> unwell </em>”, the last word came out as a whisper, something that shouldn’t be talked about. </p><p>Thomas just stands there, crossing his bulky arms over his huge chest, trying his best to look intimidating enough to avoid any violence.</p><p><em> You really think I’m falling for that, huh?, </em>he smirks behind his mask and tilts his head to the side.</p><p>A stare off ensues. One huge man looking down at the smaller one. The bull versus the fox. Thomas lets out a big huff that sounds like a mixture between a laugh and a sound an annoyed bull makes. </p><p>
  <em> I’ll humour you, but only because it’s fun to see you try. </em>
</p><p>“Look, we’re just here to take her back to her room so we can take care of her, okay? That’s all there is.” The stranger takes a step forward, and Thomas manages to hear whispers close by.</p><p>
  <em> There’s more of you, huh? </em>
</p><p>Thomas looks down at the girl who has curled into a tiny ball behind his legs when he feels his pant leg start to shake slightly where she started gripping it out of fear. </p><p>“<b>No.</b>”, it’s dark, and hoarse, but it only helps to convey his statement.<br/>
“No?”, the man mimics, suddenly realizing that his lie had failed.<br/>
“Heheh. I see. That <em> bitch </em> told you, didn’t she? Well, this one is <em> ours </em> . We <em> bought </em> her. She is our property.”, Thomas frowns when he sees a sneer appear on the stranger. Then he chuckles darkly.</p><p><em> What the hell are you talking </em> about?</p><p>“Tell you what, big man? If you hand her over to us, we can arrange a fee for you.”<br/>
His leg suddenly gets warm as she hugs closer to him, <em> clings to him </em>, even. Like he’s some kind of life preserve for her. And that’s when his brain switches. </p><p><em> You can relax, I’m not letting them take you, </em>he puts a hand on her head to try and convey his inner monologue and conversation with her.<br/>
<br/>
“<b>Leave.</b>”, he hasn’t spoken this much in months. But he wants her to know that she can stay, at least until his mama has had her say in it. <br/>
“I’m not leaving until I get my property back!”, the stranger practically roars as he lifts the gun he’s been holding behind his thigh.</p><p>Thomas’ eyes darken at the sight, he truly doesn’t want to resolve to violence, at least not if his family isn’t involved, there’s no point. And as far as he’s concerned, this woman is not family. <br/>
“You’re one big beast, you know that?”, a small chuckle emitted from the gun wielding maniac standing in front of the pair.</p><p>Then, like a gift from heaven - for once - he sees Charlie as he butts the stranger with the end of his own shotgun. The man falls to the barn floor. It’s not until he hears the thud that Thomas finally relaxes his stance a tiny bit.</p><p>
  <em> Useful, for once.  </em>
</p><p>“Who the fuck is that, Tommy?”, Charlie nods towards the scared girl still behind Thomas’ leg, who's desperately trying to curl into a smaller ball. Thomas’ looks down at her at first and then just… shrugs. He has no idea who she is. All he knows is that she’s the first person ever in his entire life who has been this adamant with getting his help. He puts his hand back on her head again and slowly strokes her messy hair.</p><p>
  <em> It’s okay, now. </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>You.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Your sight darkens slightly and you fall into shadows as something big steps in front of you, and you look up to see him look toward something. You follow his gaze and see him, <em>the one who had shot you</em> and you take a step back behind the giant in an attempt to completely disappear out of sight.<br/>
<br/>
<em> Why is he alone? Where’s the rest?!, </em> your brain starts to go into that panicked state and you fall to the floor, your legs can’t keep you up anymore as fear sets in. You can’t see anyone else.<em>There were at least three… Three… and… the dog…<br/>
<br/>
</em>“Ah, good. I see you found our sister, there. I’ve been looking for her.”<br/>
<br/>
<em>Liar.</em></p><p>“I can take care of her now. She’s uh… She’s <em>unwell</em>”, you jerk your head and eyes towards him when you hear his disgusting voice. You glance up at the huge man when you see his hands raise as he crosses them over his chest. You take a big gulp of air.<br/>
<em>He’s huge…</em></p><p>Silence. </p><p>You jump a bit at the moment the giant huffs.<br/>
“Look, we’re just here to take her back to her room so we can take care of her, okay? That’s all there is.”, you flinch when you hear a shuffle towards you both.</p><p><em> No, no no no no. Not the box, please. Anything but that fucking box!  </em>You curl up, instinct kicking in as you start to grab at the strange man’s pant leg while shaking. You’re so scared. You look up at him when you feel a pair of eyes gaze at you. And that’s when you finally manage to see his face. Or, whatever there was of it.<br/>
It’s covered in a mask. </p><p><em> Strange… <br/>
</em>But his eyes seem kind. Light blue, you can’t see any kind of hate in them. You can’t really see any clear emotion at all, actually.</p><p>“<b>No.</b> ”, a shiver runs down your spine when you hear his voice. It’s dark, almost as hoarse as your own. But you feel safer than you’ve felt since you started running.<br/>
“No?”, the man with the gun mimics, his voice is low, and clings to your ears and nerves as black tar.</p><p>You zone out, memories starting to trickle into your brain. Memories that makes you nauseous. Memories of his voice sticking in your ears as he forced himself into you, his tongue tracing venomous trails across every part it could reach. This disgusting voice, this sticky and tar like voice of his. You hate it. You hate it so much. <br/>
In the middle of remembering all the sticky things his voice told you, you wrap your arms around the big leg in front of you, and bury your face in it, shielding yourself. Right now, the only safe place you can remember in your life is this man.</p><p>That’s when you feel a hand on your head. It’s not clamping down to hurt you, or to force your face up to make you recieve some disgusting load. It’s just… <em>there</em>. It’s there like a warmth, a helmet. A way to comfort you, you make you realize he wants to help you.</p><p>“<b>Leave.</b> ”, that same dark voice speaks. His whole body vibrates.<br/>
“I’m not leaving until I get my property back!”</p><p><em> Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up!, </em> you press your eyes shut. Just hoping it will end.<br/>
You keep your eyes shut. Not wanting to see his face anymore, not wanting to be here anymore. You just want everything and anything to end. You want to wake up from this nightmare. And that’s when you hear a <em>thud</em> and another voice speak out.</p><p>“Who the fuck is that, Tommy?”</p><p><em> Tommy? Wh… Who’s “Tommy”?, </em>your brain is too tired to fully function and put two and two together.</p><p>This new voice sounds older, it’s definitely another man. But you can’t place him. It’s new. It isn’t until you feel the same hand on your head again, but this time in a stroking motion, that you get the courage to look up. But you can’t relax yet. You know there’s more people here. Around the house. You’re just not sure where they are. So you decide to try and talk again. </p><p>“M...m-...”, you take a shaky breath, and try to gather saliva again, easier this time.<br/>
“Ther- there’s more…”</p><p>“More what?”, The old man spits at you as he crouches down to your eye level and looks at you, he seems angry at you, so you flinch further behind the behemoth, who all he can do is stand there since your grip is tight on his leg. His hand still on your head, intently watching as you attempt to have a conversation with the old man.</p><p>“O-... of them…”, you whisper as you nod towards the one lying down on the floor, still breathing. </p><p>“Are you trying to tell me that there’s more of those bastards on <b>my </b>property, girl?”, the old man spits. </p><p>
  <em> He’s definitely angry, shit. </em>
</p><p>All you can manage to do is nod. The old man stands tall and puts his hands on his hips as he clicks his tongue. You stay put, almost too scared to move a muscle, your nerves still on high alert, ready to sprint if you hear any kind of loud noise. But nothing happens, it’s still. <br/>
“Come. We’ll talk to mama.”, the old voice mumbles out, “After that, you’re helping me bring our sleeping friend to the sheriff’s station.” Before you’re able to fully comprehend what’s happening your protector bends down best to his abilities and slowly pats your arms holding him tight while keeping eye contact with you.</p><p>“Wh… what…?”, you’re confused. So, so confused as you look at him. He lightly takes hold of your arms and slowly pry them open to release his leg.<br/>
“Oh…”, is all you can say as you understand what he wants and you release his leg by your own will, but still not fully grasping what he wants to do, at least not until you feel his strong arms under you.</p><p>One hooking under your legs and one resting at your back.</p><p>And you’re off the ground. It’s not until he takes one step forward that your brain sends a harsh reminder about the pain in your shoulder and you shriek out.</p><p>“FUCK!”, it’s loud enough - or you’re way too close to his ear - that he jumps, his grip almost slipping. The pain is enormous all of a sudden, and that’s when it happens. <em> You pass out. </em> Your brain, and body, finally giving up. You can’t run anymore, and you mentally accept your fate, not caring what it might be and you’re put into a deep slumber.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please do excuse my poor attempt at trying to get that Texan Accent when they talk, I'm not suuuperfamiliar with it, but I tried my best.</p><p>Comments are always welcomed, and thank you so much for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Subtle Hint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is long, and has somewhat complicated parts, so please have patience with me! This is also my first attempt at writing Luda Mae, so yeah. I'm not 100 % happy with her yet... </p><p>Tw:<br/>- Mentions of sexual abuse/rape<br/>- Memories of sexual abuse/rape</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thomas B. Hewitt.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Mama!”, Charlie’s voice rings out in the giant house. “Mama, where you at? We need your help here!”.</p><p>On his way in Thomas shoos some piglets away with his foot as he walks into one of the seating areas where an empty couch sat before putting the strange woman down on it, careful as to not wake her up.<br/>“What are you yellin’ about, Charlie?”, their mother walks in but stops dead in her tracks when Thomas turns to her and reveals the sleeping woman on the couch.<br/>“Oh my goodness!”, she rushes over to the couch and gently puts her hand on the sleeping girl’s forehead, almost shoving Thomas out of the way making him wobble slightly as he’s caught off guard at his mother’s sudden actions. </p><p>“Who’s this?”, her eyes darted between the men standing there dumbfounded.<br/>Thomas just shrugs, brows knitting together while looking at her sleeping face before he remembers that she screamed and gripped her shoulder before he carried her in. He kneels next to her head and slowly lifts her up to look for a wound.<br/>When he finds it, he nudges his mother and grunts towards it.</p><p>“She’s hurt! Charlie, make yourself useful and go grab a towel and some water, boy.”<br/>She turns to Thomas.<br/>“And you, go grab your sewing supplies! This looks like it needs stitches.”</p><p>He nods and gets up, quickly walking over to his corner of the downstairs area where his sewing machine and sewing whatnots is housed. <br/>He works in silence, completely zoned out and deep in concentration, his family’s voices but a blurred sound. He fish the bullet out, which he just throws into some dark corner of the room and proceeds to stitch the wound up. Sure, his fingers are massive - like the rest of him - but his touch is delicate, his stitching is neat and thorough. He’s always like working with his hands, it was probably just by chance that he happened to be good at sewing. </p><p>That night he decides to keep a close eye on her, moving one of the lounge chairs over to sit in her vicinity.<br/>Sleeping people are easier to interact with, he doesn’t have to do much close to them. It’s the awake ones he - <em>usually</em> - has a problem with, except for when this one came running <em>to</em> him.</p><p>Usually, people tend to walk away from him, not run towards him. Not cling to his legs, not shaking and hiding behind him. They hide <em> from </em> him. <br/><em> He’s </em>the problem most of the time, not some kind of… savior. He reclines in the chair, leaning his head back, tilting it slightly.</p><p>
  <em> Who are you? </em>
</p><p>“So.”, Thomas jumps as he hears Charlie's voice at the door. <br/>“You’re just gonna’ be a creep and watch’er, aint ya?”, Charlie chuckles as he leans on the door frame. “Never thought ya’ was gonna’ be a creeper, Tommy”, he clicks his tongue before giving one of his crooked sneers..</p><p>Thomas rolls his head towards Charlie and just glares at him until he leaves to the porch, probably to drink and harass their uncle, then he just grunts in annoyance and rolls his head back towards the girl.</p><p><em> I’m just keeping an eye on her, ya dumbass. </em> <em> <br/></em> Again, he snorts at his own joke. <em> At least I think I’m hilarious. </em></p><p>As he sits there, having his own inner conversations with himself about nothing in particular, his thoughts start to wander.<br/>Thoughts about how she didn’t recognize him, everyone around these parts knows him. <em> He’s the monster </em> , the <em> big nasty man, </em> the <em> diseased freak </em>. But she didn’t care, she clung to him. Like she would float out to sea if she let go of him. Thinking back to earlier, his heart flutters oh so slightly.</p><p>
  <em> Why…? </em>
</p><p>A huff later and he’s kicked his boots off and laid his feet up on the couch the girl is sleeping on, a long quiet and tired moan escapes his lips as he just slides down the lounge chair. Crossing his arms he leans his head down on his shoulder and just watches her. <br/>Watching her relaxed face, tracing the shape of her nose, her slightly parted lips and the way her messy hair falls over her neck.<br/>She looks peaceful, the way her chest rises and falls in a calm rhythmic way. It’s when he lazily watches the movement of her chest he feels his own eyes start to feel heavy.</p><p>One loud snore is all it takes for him to wake himself up with a jolt which makes one of his heavy feet to slip off the couch and slam onto the floor with a loud <em> thud </em>, he slowly pushes himself up in the seat as he’s laying more on the floor than across his chair and the couch at this point.</p><p><em> Shit…, </em>he stills as he sees her stir a bit on the couch, small sleeping mumbled words escaping as she turns to the side, he lets a breath out that he’d been holding and hangs his head.</p><p><em> Don’t wake up, please, don’t wake up…, </em> he’s suddenly really afraid that she will.<br/>Every shred of bravery after what happened at the barn went out the window the moment he got left alone with her. Outside, it’s pitch black.</p><p><em> Must be late </em> . <br/>His eyes start searching the room for the clock. 1:45 AM. Even if he’s really tired, even if his work is most likely going to suffer the next day and even if he’s starting to feel nervous about a stranger in his home, he’s determined to stay up to make sure she doesn’t wake up alone.<br/>He’s woken up alone and scared too many times through his teenage years, especially when his nose started to fall apart. And even if he doesn’t know her or even as little as just her name, he doesn’t want her to experience the same fear he did. </p><p><em> I need air, I need something to keep awake.<br/></em>His knees crack slightly as he decides to sneak out on the porch, he glances at his boots but decides to ditch them.</p><p>The screen door squeaks lightly as he steps out to plant himself on one of the benches, the board bending at his weight. He leans back and sprawls his legs out in front of him, letting his hands flop down on his thighs.</p><p><em> What have you gotten yourself into, Tommy? You know this was a stupid idea. </em> He sighs and rubs his hands over his masked face.<br/><em> You can’t talk to her, and even if you could, she would just run at the sight of you. Besides, there's barely any food as is.<br/></em>Closing his eyes, he decides to just enjoy the silence and occasional chirp of a grasshopper or fox screaming somewhere in the forest before he has to prepare for work. </p><p>He’s awoken just as the sun rises by his mother tapping him on the shoulder.<br/>“Tommy, ya' can’t be sleepin' on the porch like that. Come on.”<br/>He just nods and follows her inside.<br/>“Ya' need to put 'er in a bed”, she orders him motioning to the sleeping girl.</p><p>Thomas looks at his mother and raises an eyebrow.<br/><em> A bed? We have extra beds? </em></p><p>Almost as she is - <em>actually</em> - able to read his mind, she shakes her head and turns to show him. “Come on, pick 'er up and I’ll show ya'.”, he looks over at the girl and hesitates at first, fingers twitching nervously. <br/>“Thomas Brown Hewitt.”, he flinches. He knows she’s serious when she uses his full name and he nods again. </p><p>On the second floor his mama unlocks one of the doors that opens up to a small bedroom, or… a big closet, he’s not entirely sure how to categorize it, but it has a bed, a mirror and a small dresser, although the dresser looks more or less like fire wood.<br/>He’s seen the door, sure, but honestly never really bothered much since he’s spent more or less all his life in either his room or in the basement.</p><p>He grunts and nods towards the bedroom with a raised eyebrow.</p><p><em> In here?, </em>and continue in when his mother nods.</p><p>“I made the bed after I saw you fell asleep watchin’ her.” she whispers while pulling the covers off the bed so he can put her on it. <br/>“But,ya' need to head off to the slaughterhouse, and she needs sleep.” <br/>He looks between his mama and the girl with a frown. <br/>“Tommy, you can’t be at home watchin’ this little lady when you have work to do.”, she tells him with her stern motherly voice before turning to leave.</p><p>“Besides…”, he looks at her and raises his eyebrow, asking the obvious non-verbal question.</p><p><em> Besides what? </em> </p><p>“We need extra if we gonna’ look after ‘er for a while.”, the answer is simple, on point. But has something to it. He hears it, but doesn't follow what she means. So he nodded, and let out a small “Mmh.”</p><p>Just before he closes the door he catches one last look at her while his mother has her back turned, brows furrowing when he feels a slight tinge of worry pick in his stomach.</p><p>
  <em> I’ll be back later, I promise. </em>
</p><p>The door clicks shut and he heads downstairs, pulls his boots on and with a heaving sigh sets off to the place he both likes - <em>and dislikes</em> - at the same time.</p><p>The<em> slaughterhouse. </em></p><p>As the giant building comes into view his mood becomes worse and worse. His chest shrinks, shoulders tense and his hands fists at his sides. He never really liked being here, not fully, only reasons for going being his family, and it’s a good place to let off some steam.<br/>But it’s also the place where the majority of his school yard bullies followed him. Even here he had to hear their voices behind his back, and all he wanted when he did was to go home and shut himself in his room. Or basement. Wherever he could hide from the world. <br/>Inside, it’s empty. He’s always the first one to enter and last one to leave, the hardest worker of them all, and probably the only thing in his entire life he actually took pride in. The fact that he was a hard worker. But they don’t care, no one ever truly does. Well, except his family of course.</p><p> </p><p>He scratches his neck before putting his apron on and readjust his mask before he heads off to his little corner of the butcher floor.<br/><em> I was right, I am sore as all hell today. </em> , he thinks while rolling his shoulders trying to wake tired and sore muscles up. <em> I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the porch… </em>, he grunts and snarls at his poor choice of sleeping place.</p><p>The day goes by at a snail's pace. Countless jokes and laughing directed at him. Snears and hard dunks at his back as an awful attempt at “We’re just messing with you, <em>big man</em>. Relax, jeez” as they continue using him as some kind of comic relief. <br/>He hates it when <em> they </em> comment on his build. When he hears them call him “big” or anything relating to his height. When they say it, it never comes from a place of admiration, or as something positive. It’s only meant to ridicule him. <br/>He knows he’s huge, a monster. He’s heard it before, all his life.</p><p>
  <em> I'm nothing more than an… an animal. </em>
</p><p>He’s also fully aware of his own strength. He can break these people's bones with his hands if he wants to. And by <em> god, </em>did he want to at times. Some days he wanted nothing more than to squeeze the next hand that dunked his back until he heard and felt it crack under his fingers. But he never does. He has way too much to lose to mess with people at work.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally arrives home, the house is empty. Charlie and his mother might still be out, possibly off to try and sell some stuff she found after he cleared the barn, before… <em> she </em> showed up. <br/>He’s angry, balancing dangerously close to furious and his footsteps are loud.</p><p><em> <b>Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. </b> </em> <br/>That one creaky step on the stairs scream when his angry foot lands on it. This time, he’s fairly certain a huge part of it got loose in the crawl space underneath. <br/>Finally reaching his room, he slams his door shut, momentarily forgetting about the sleeping stranger down the hall, the slam being hard enough to elicit a cracking sound, that crack is all he needs to cross the line between angry and furious.<br/>He looks back to make sure he didn’t break <em>another thing</em> due to his strength, before pacing back and forth trying to calm himself down.</p><p><em> Just… Leave me ALONE!, </em>he growls as he fists his hands and gently smacks his head to try and silent every and any bad thought that flows his mind. His chest is heaving.</p><p><em>I just want to do my goddamn WORK, you ASSHOLES!</em> <br/>In one swift motion he sweeps his arms across his desk to throw every trinket that rests on it down on the floor to try and sate his rage.</p><p>It doesn’t take long after the poor subjects of his rage have quiet down in their rolling and clinking, him just standing there, his mask amplifying his breathing, before the sound of a door opening reaches his ears.</p><p><em> Ssh… it. </em> , is all he manages to think when he freezes. And <em> she </em> is slowly inched back into his memories, his eyes widening when he realizes one simple thing.<br/><br/><em> I woke her. </em></p><p>He just stares at his own door, eyes wide in horror as if she was some kind of vicious predator coming to end his own life. Not even sure what to do when he hears a small voice ring out.</p><p> </p><p>“H...ello?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>You</b>
</p><p> </p><p>You wake with a jolt after hearing a loud slam somewhere. Your head hurts, your shoulder hurts and you have this creeping ache in your stomach that tells you; You. Are. Starving. <br/>“Ow…”, you rub your temple before rubbing your eyes awake. Looking around, you’re in a room. On a <em> bed </em>. At first, you’re scared again. This isn’t the Box, where are you? What was that sound? What room is this? Your mind is blank.</p><p>“Where am I?”, you shock yourself a bit when you actually clearly hear your own voice, almost as if you’ve forgotten what it sounded like. Someone had given you water. Your captors did let you drink, but only when you’ve been good enough for them. Only when they decided you had earned a reward. <br/>After sitting up for a few minutes just looking around the strange room, you decide to try and stand up on your aching legs. </p><p>You groan as you stand, your legs are wobbly and you have to support yourself on the nearest wall to regain your balance. <br/><em> Jesus. My legs are so sore, and my feet hurt. </em> <br/>You take an experimental step and despite the soreness you manage to keep your weight up. <br/>As you shuffle your way around the small room you see a mirror, a dirty and grimy one, but a mirror nonetheless. <br/>Stepping up to it and cleaning it to the best of your abilities with your own half-dirty hand, you’re not sure how to react when you see yourself. You can’t fully remember the last time you saw your own reflection clearly like this.</p><p>Your hair is long, dirty, full of knots and a murkier version of your natural hair. Your eyes were still slightly swollen, and puffy, the color of them a contrast to the red. You were still wearing that makeshift “dress” made of scraps of several potato sacks. A horrible attempt at covering yourself up during nights when the Box was cold. <br/>Over your shoulder and down around your chest you see something graying white with specks of dried crimson and you tilt your head in curiosity.</p><p>“Is that… a bandage?”, you pull your dress down to look at the strange piece of fabric wrapped tightly, but somewhat sloppy, around your shoulder more clearly. “Who did this?”</p><p>Suddenly, the sound of several small objects flying across the floor reaches your ears, and you jump. Then, silence falls again.</p><p>You pull the dress pack in place and turn towards the door in fear, your body tenses and your breathing becomes heavier as all you do is wait for it to burst open. Your mind gets ready for a new awful hour of being rented out like some kind of object, something to be used and then forgotten about in the Box. <br/>Even if you can’t fully remember what has happened, your mind only gives you glimpses of you running, looking down the barrel of a gun and… and… a <em> man </em> , you can still feel a creeping anxiety in the pit of your stomach, your nerves are still on alert mode.<br/>But nothing happens, no one is coming to drag you away. There’s no voices calling out to that “<em>stupid bitch</em>”, there’s nothing but silence. </p><p>After what feels like hours you decide to make a move and start shuffling towards the door. Only dragging your feet in fear that the floor might creak loudly and announce your present to people. You’re scared, but you still want to try the door.</p><p><em> If I’m not tied down, the door has to be locked </em> .<br/>But it’s not. The door is unlocked, and you’re not tied down.</p><p>Outside, it’s still. The only sound being a small rhythmic tapping sound coming from downstairs. You sneak out as silent as a cat would when sneaking on a prey.</p><p>“H...ello?”, you try. No reply. <br/>All you can see looking down the hallway are closed doors. <br/>Looking around the empty, silent hallway you sneak out, curiosity picking in your mind. You don’t recognise this house, it doesn’t look like any house you’ve been in when you were rented out. It doesn’t have the same lingering feeling of dread or force. It feels… <em>homely</em>.</p><p>Going down the hallway you notice pictures on one of the bookshelves and you stop in front of them to look, to try and piece something together as to who lives here. <br/>One photograph catches your eyes and you pick it up, examining it further.<br/>It’s a picture of a young boy in a striped t-shirt. His hair is dark but his face is covered up by a pair of older hands. </p><p><em> Why would you cover a small kid’s face like that?, </em>you think and shake your head as you put it back. </p><p>Shuffling away from the bookshelf you creep towards the stairs, the steps are cool under your feet, in contrast to the warm rug laid out on the second floor. You wince when you accidentally step a bit harsh on one of your wounds. <br/>One step creaks loudly and your heart jumps thinking it’ll break, unbeknownst to you how it manages to hold the weight of a 200 lb behemoth of a man and won’t break under your feather light steps.</p><p>Just the same as the top floor, the main floor is empty. Only living things here are the piglets, and even those are sleeping in random places around the living room, gentle snoring coming from them. A sound you can’t help but to giggle at.</p><p>You’re not entirely sure what to do. You seem to be completely alone in this huge house. Your stomach starts cramping and rumbles again.</p><p><em> I hope they don’t mind if I borrow some food </em> , you think to yourself as you make your way around the house, trying to find the kitchen.  What strikes you first is a smell. A smell of uncleanliness. It’s filthy, dirt everywhere. Mason Jars caked with either dust or moldy food. <br/>The fridge is just as gross as the rest of the kitchen, smell even worse in that, and it’s mostly empty. </p><p>You sigh. <br/>“I guess they don’t own much”, you mumble to, as far as you’re concerned, no one at all and close the fridge to proceed to just… <em>stand there</em>. Alone, in a strange family’s kitchen. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thomas B. Hewitt.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Footsteps. They’re low, but years of bullying has made him hyper aware and vigilant to any and all noises, and he recognizes how the floorboards creak when someone steps on them. He’s learned the pattern</p><p><br/><em> What should I do? </em> , he doesn’t know how to handle strange people. Strangers make him nervous and it’s not like he can knock her out again to make her go back to sleep so he can function. Out of nervous habit he raises his hands and starts fiddling with his fingers, staying put like an unmovable statue. <br/>Him, the behemoth they call Tommy, a nervous wreck when faced with a stranger, and a stranger in his home, where he’s supposed the one in charge.<br/>He just stands there, listening and following her footsteps and trying to figure out where in the hallway she currently is, waiting for the perfect moment to step out of his bedroom. He can’t stay there forever just because she’s awake, he has to face her at some point. With or without his mama’s help. </p><p>His breath hitches slightly when he notices that she’s stopped.</p><p><em> She’s outside… </em> </p><p>A minute or two passes, and then he hears that awful cracking sound of that one step on the stairs, and he lets out a shaky breathe when he realizes<br/><em> She’s going downstairs, and Charlie’s not home </em> .<br/>A small but noticeable wave of relief rolls over him. If Charlie would’ve been home she would’ve most likely been bombarded with questions and words and god knows what. Maybe even worse things than that if he had been drinking.</p><p>It’s only when he can’t hear her footsteps anymore that he manages to sneak his door open and peek outside, hallway empty, but he hears a faint giggle coming from downstairs. He surprises himself with how silent he’s actually being when snaking his way towards the dreaded stairs.</p><p><em> Really, Thomas. It’s a person, not a wild animal, </em> his body and mind fighting in a fierce battle. <em> I just wish mama was home, how am I going to talk to her? </em></p><p>He’s mindful to skip that crackling step at the stairs and keeps onward down. He’s like a shadow floating through his house. Stopping suddenly as he sees her swiftly walk pass him on the main floor. His eyes widen, lips pressed into a thin line, sucking in air into his lungs and lets it rest there, too nervous to let it out until he hears the fridge door open.<br/>Then, and only then does he continue down the stars.</p><p>In a corner, shrouded by darkness, he stops and stares at her back as she looks into the fridge, his heart drums in his chest. A rapid melody of <b>du-dumdu-dumdu-dumdu-dum… <br/></b> He’s too used to getting ridiculed, and now when she’s awake, and doesn’t seem as frightened and desperate as she did in the barn, his mind races back to everyone else. <br/>To everyone in school, or when they’ve seen him when he’s been at the gas station helping his mother.<br/>They all just screamed, some even letting out high pitch <em> screeching </em> when they’ve seen him alone by accident. His self image is only made out of broken pieces at this point. Just the sheer fact that he didn’t run into the house when she first came into the barn is a surprise to himself. But now? <em> Now </em>she’s scary.</p><p>“I guess they don’t own much”, her voice is sweet now when he hears it clearly, and he tilts his head to the side. Her voice is both warm and smooth. It flows into his ears like honey.</p><p>
  <em> Now I really do feel like a creep… </em>
</p><p>He keeps standing in the shadows watching her, his eyes dancing over her form. Her hair now resting on her back, with one part falling over her shoulder.<br/>A brief thought of how it would feel to brush that part of hair behind her ear flashes by in his mind and he shakes his head as he feels his cheeks heat up. </p><p> After closing the fridge door she just… stands there. Looking around, looking lost.</p><p>And Thomas? <em>He does the same</em>. Nervous and anxious, hands raised to his midsection to fiddle with his fingers, head hung low and stray hairs falling in front his eyes.<br/>He feels as lost as she looks until one of the small piglets running straight into one of his legs elicits a squeal, Thomas grunts slightly and stomps lightly at the floor to scare the piglet away.</p><p><em> Nice going, pig… </em>, after looking at the pig running away in fear he looks up and is met by a pair of surprised eyes looking at him.</p><p>“It’s <em> you! </em> ”, he flinches at how she punctuates “<em>you</em>” and his eyes panic like he doesn’t know where to look, his lips becoming a thin line again, his heart beating like a rapid drum and he begins to breathe heavily, making his hands shake and fingers twitch.</p><p><em> No... </em> <br/>He panics and turns to leave, heavy boots sounding out through the hallway, with wide steps he aims for the basement. </p><p>“Wait!”, her voice rings out again, that smooth velvety honey hits him, but he just ignores it. He can’t.<br/>His brain tells him that she’s just like everyone else. Just like the people in the slaughterhouse, just like the people in town, or at his mama’s store, just like his classmates during recess. She’s no different. When she sees him properly, she’ll scream. And realize what a horrible mistake she made by turning to <em> him </em>for help.</p><p>
  <em> She’s just like everyone else. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Their Truest of Smiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Weee wooo! Chapter 4! I never thought I would actually get this far, woaaahhh.</p><p>TW:<br/>- uh... Thomas swears<br/>- Foul language</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>You</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Squeal, growl, stomp. And you turn around to look in the direction of the sounds, there he is. The man your brain has decided to remember. You silently step up to him and look at him with a small discrete smile on your lips until he turns to look at you.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you!”</span>
  </em>
  <span>, your smile falters as he appears to flinch at your words, like you had stabbed him with something, and then he turns to leave. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wait!”, you follow him a short distance before you start thinking that it might be a bad idea and are left standing in the hallway when you hear a door slam. You're yet again alone, looking toward where the man left in a hurry</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"O… oh…" </span>
  <span>Unsure of what to do, you keep standing there, slightly swaying, listening to the snuffle of the pigs. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"I'm so sorry!", you yell out in hopes of it reaching his ears before heading back up to the room you woke up in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slump down on the bed again, listening to the silence that once again occupies the house and finger a piece of fabric on your dress to occupy your brain. You let your body just fall to the side to lay down on your pillow, still fiddling and fingering a piece of fabric. All you do is just… <em>exist</em>. From time to time a small groan from the house can be heard, a wind might whistle somewhere.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After you’ve been existing, rolling around the bed to wake up limbs that have fallen asleep, you start hearing voices, footsteps and doors opening and closing and you perk up.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps up the stairs makes you sit up and tuck your knees to your chest just staring at the door before deciding to walk over to the door to take a peek outside, but before you have time to reach it, a knocking emits from it.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“C-come in.”, you reply in a small voice.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, you’re awake, good.”, an older lady with glasses hung around her neck enters your room “How are you feelin’, girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks expectantly at you, waiting for a reply.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“O-oh. I’m, uhm… I’m good, I think.”, you smile awkwardly at her. Scratching a bit of skin off your arm that your dress bites into, the fabric is uncomfortable as all hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old lady looks quizzically at you, eyebrows raised.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“You think?”<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Uhm… Yes. I’m a bit… confused, truth be told.”, you look sheepishly at her, suddenly feeling really embarrassed. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What’s your name, darlin’?”, she puts her hands on her hips as she asks you the simplest of questions to any human being out there.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“M-my name?”, you stutter slightly, a familiar lump forming in your throat that you desperately try to swallow. “I-I… uhm…”, you take a deep breath to try and resist the urge to cry as you quietly whisper out “I can’t remember…”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s when those words leave your mouth that the flood gates that are your eyes open up and you can’t help but to cry. It’s all you do at that moment. You don’t even try to get them to stop. It’s an ugly, hulking cry. The one that’s felt in every part of your body, the kind where you want to scream out your sadness, the one that almost makes you want to vomit.<br/>
</span>
  <span>You raise your hands to hide behind, to cry behind, and soon after you feel a pair of arms wrap around you in an embrace. A soft cooing into your scalp, and a hand smoothing over your hair. No words are spoken, it’s just you in the old lady’s embrace and the sounds of your crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you finally feel your tears starting to let up, and you let yourself relax, the lady releases you from her grip, but cups your cheeks and lifts your head to let your eyes meet hers.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“My name is Luda Mae, darlin’.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her smile is warm, and you can tell she’s a mother just by the way she smiles at you. You smile back and nod slightly, rubbing one eye with the heel of your hand. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on. You’ll feel better after havin’ a shower.”, she takes your hand in a light grip and leads you towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna see if I can’t find you a proper piece of clothing too, can’t have you walkin’ ‘round the house in those rags.”, she chuckles a bit and you can’t help but to do the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All you manage to do is nod and gently squeeze her hand in appreciation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the bathroom is dirty too, it’s not as bad as the kitchen and you are thankful for that fact. <br/>
</span>
  <span>Your whole body starts to itch where the fabric of your makeshift dress drags due to how rough it is. You peel the bandage off carefully to make sure you don’t disturb your wound, examining it when you see you’ve gotten stitches. A small “hm” when you silently appreciate the work someone here has done to you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wince slightly when the water hits the wound, but after the worst pain has subsided, you relax. You hang your head and watch as dark, murky water run down your legs and down the drain. The lighter the shower water becomes, the better you feel. </span>
  <span>For a few minutes, the only thing you do is stand there with water running down your back and hair. It feels so good to take a shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think I can remember when I took a shower alone last…</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you sigh in relief. <br/>
</span>
  <span>Picking under your nails to get grime out, scrubbing to get dirt away from your nail beds.<br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>It feels So. Damn. Good. to be clean again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door wakes you up from your shower dreaming.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes?”, you call out.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s Luda, darlin’. Just wanted to give ya’ somethin’ else to wear.”<br/>
</span>
  <span>You smile to yourself at those words.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, come in.”, even though the curtain is covering your form up you can’t help but to put your arms around you covering you up more out of instinct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You look at the darkened figure of Luda Mae as she puts some clothing down on the toilet seat.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Pick whichever ya’ like, darlin’, and come downstairs when you’re ready. Supper will be on the table.”, and just like that, you’re left alone.<br/>
</span>
  <span>You’re not entirely used to this level of free time. You knew there was always someone watching over you some way or another, but not here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You dry yourself off and take a look at the items of clothing. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>One simple dress, nothing fancy or spectacular. And two types of shirts - which for you looked big enough to become dresses anyway.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hm…”. You tried both the dress and one shirt, but in the end decided to pick the shirt. Mostly because you liked the fabric and how it felt on your skin, it was looser than the dress, which helped a lot with the wound on your shoulder since it didn’t dig into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as suspected, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too big. You giggled at how the long sleeves reached out and over your fingertips, and the length of it reached down to your mid thighs, making you wonder if maybe you should ask for a pair of pants, but shrugging that thought away. </span>
  <span>The top button covered your chest just barely and you knew if you leaned forward too much everyone would get a clear cut view of your breasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On your way down to the main floor you heard the sound of what you guessed was a TV.<br/>
</span>
  <span>You made your way through the house to find where the smell of food came from, your stomach rumbling and mouth starting to drool. When you finally found the dining room, you suddenly felt very small at the sight of the entire family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your eyes met with an older man that looked grumpy and you hid behind the door frame. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“That girl ‘o yours is here, mama.”, his voice is gruff and you see the lady turn around to look at you, beckoning you to enter the dining room.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Stop hidin’ behind doors and get in here! Supper’s getting cold.”, you nod shyly and walk around the corner to sit down at an empty chair that seems to be distant enough from the old man, but sadly making you end up in direct line of sight of him. His gaze is burning your soul and you feel really naked and exposed by it, especially when you notice where his gaze is making its way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You jump high and drop your fork when there is one loud stomp at the floor.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“THOMAS! It’s DINNER TIME!”, you curl up into the chair and tuck your knees up to your chest when you get the chance while the old man isn’t looking at you, his eyes seemingly searching for any kind of sound. It takes a few minutes before you hear footsteps coming for the dining room, heavy ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck have ya’ been, ya’ bastard? Haven’t seen ya’ since we got home, boy.”, something in his voice makes a shiver run down your back, it sounds venomous. His question was just replied with an annoyed grunt. You keep your eyes on your food that you’re simply just poking around with your fork, despite the hunger aching in you. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, stop bein’ a baby, Tommy. Just sit somewhere else, and let the girl eat.”, Luda Mae tells the man you’re starting to piece together is named Thomas.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh I took his seat…</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you keep your eyes down in embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s by the time the big man sits down next to you that you decide you need to do something, say something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I… Uhm… I just wanted to say…”, all eyes on you. Even Thomas, you see him in the corner of your eye, but you honestly don’t dare to look at him. Not after you apparently offended him earlier. You're scared he’s mad at you for offending him, scared he’s mad at you for unknowingly taking his seat. And your voice goes from loud and clear to a whisper.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“T...hank you.”, you take a mouth full of the food and feel tears pricking at your eyes again. You take another. And another. And suddenly you’re shoving food into your mouth almost faster than you have time to chew. The sight is apparently comical, as you start hearing chuckling and giggles around the table. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“Easy there, darlin’.”, a hand lands on your own and a thumb rubs back and forth. You look up at Luda with happy tears streaming down your cheeks. “Don’t choke on your food! It’s enough you almost up and died when Tommy brought you in, no need to scare us again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slow down enough to finish what you’ve already started chewing. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“I just haven’t eaten such good food in so long, it’s amazing!”, for the first time since you got here, your smile reaches up to your eyes making them squint in happiness. Your smile is real, and genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making at least one's heart at the dinner table to jump.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thomas B. Hewitt</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The basement is dim and damp. And the moment he reaches the floor he kicks a bucket that richoces at a nearby wooden banister and lands in some far corner. Anger has taken a hold of him again. Frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God DAMN IT! , </span>
  </em>
  <span>he growls and plants his hands flat on one of the tables, head slumped. Shoulders tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm so sorry!", </span>
  </em>
  <span>it's faint, but he still hears her voice calling out for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shut the </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fuck </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's breathing heavily. When he heard her voice before, it was like honey, soft and warm in his ears, </span>
  <span>but now? It stung like daggers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the way she said "</span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>" that set him off. It's how everyone else always talks to or about him. He was never viewed as a person, a human being. He was almost always a venomous “</span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, a whispering “</span>
  <em>
    <span>him” </span>
  </em>
  <span>between friends followed by snicker and giggles. Sometimes he was even an “</span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His family were the only people who viewed him like a proper human being, well except for Charlie but that was just because he was an asshole in general. <br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>”, “it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>him”</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>man”. All of them negative. He grits his teeth, his fingers digging into the table, knuckles turning white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a frustrated roar that’s silenced by the crash of the table he decides to flip over makes. His tools fly all through the basements and clank all over the space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the worst of his tantrum has subsided, he’s just standing there, looking at the mess he’s made before stomping over to a small secluded area of the basement.<br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>area of the basement, the one he made during his early teenage years when the bullying became worse and he felt he needed a place where his family didn’t go. He needed something more hidden. A place where he could curl into when he didn’t want the world to know he even existed. </span>
  <span>He’d put a bed in there once, an old one. A creaky, dingy bed. Mostly just springs and a mattress, but a bed nonetheless. <br/>
</span>
  <span>He flopped down on it, face first, ignoring the uncomfortable way the edges of his mask dug into his face and scars as he let his eyes fall halfway. He just sighed, one foot hanging off the bed, arms folded under his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s pretty, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the adrenaline started to pour out of his body and tiredness hit him. He usually gets either straight up sleepy or just tired after an adrenaline rush, no matter how small.  </span>
  <span>Closing his eyes, his mind drifts off to that one sentence when her voice was still honey.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I like her voice…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>-MAS!</em>”, he slowly opens his eyes listening for something that sounded like a voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>THOMAS!</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, it’s Charlie.</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he groaned when he realized who it was, and drags himself up from the creaky bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>It’s DINNER TIME!"</em></span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span>He yawns as he climbs the stairs up to the dining room. </span>
  <span>The whole family is gathered as he enters, looking at his seat he sees her. In one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>HIS</span>
  </em>
  <span> shirts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mama, that’s MY shirt! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck have ya’ been, ya’ bastard? Haven’t seen ya’ since we got home, boy.”, Thomas just grunts in annoyance to Charlie’s question, or to her sitting in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>seat… or the fact that his mother gave her one of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>favorite </span>
  </em>
  <span>shirts. He’s not sure. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He throws his mother an annoyed glance before huffing.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, stop bein’ a baby, Tommy. Just sit somewhere else, and let the girl eat.”, his mother tells him. He gives a defeated whine, trudges over and plants himself on an empty chair next to her. As he picks his own utensil up to start digging into the food in front of him, she decides to speak again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I… Uhm… I just wanted to say…”, he slowly turns his head towards her, his eyes piercing into her. He’s confused as to what feelings to feel right now. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Annoyance because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>shirt and </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>seat?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Flustered because it’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>shirt</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she actually looks adorable in it?<br/>
</span>
  <span>Angry because she’s most likely just like everyone else, or at the fact that he has to think about what kind of feelings he’s supposed to have? It’s just one big confused concoction of emotions and feelings rumbling around inside of him right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T...hank you.”, her voice is low, but he shrugs slightly. He takes a bite of food before turning to look at her again in utter shock. She’s shoveling food into her like a ravenous animal. Like she hasn’t eaten in god knows how long. It looks like she doesn’t even have time to chew properly, he stifles a chuckle at the sight and signals his mother with a chuckle disguised as a grunt.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“Easy there, darlin’.”, he just spectates as his mother places a hand on hers before turning to look at his brother and uncle who’s both chuckling at the starving animal at the table before he himself can’t help but to release a silent chuckle, his shoulder bouncing slightly. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Don’t choke on your food! It’s enough you almost up and died when Tommy brought you in, no need to scare us again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles to himself as he takes a drink of water.<br/>
</span>
  <span>“I just haven’t eaten such good food in so long, it’s amazing!” He glances at her at first, but can’t help to fully turn his head when he sees her smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a genuine smile. A smile that reaches her eyes. He remembers something his mother told him at a young age; </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Remember, Tommy. If a person whose smile makes their eye smaller, that person is giving you their truest of smiles.”, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it isn't until now that he fully understands what she meant by that.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If he spoke; he would’ve been speechless. Something even his thoughts are at this moment. He’s not sure what to say, or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he sees her smile. <br/>
</span>
  <span>It makes his heart jump and he’s more thankful than ever that he has his mask on as he can basically feel his cheek start to burn red. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The String that Broke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I have a love-hate relationship to this chapter, honestly. The original draft had a 12 week timeskip, but I didn’t think it would fit, fully. And this version was born. I had a hard time writing this chapter, honestly, and I don’t think it’s my best work so far.<br/>I also noticed that it’s somewhat close to ch 4, both ending in smiles and a “Thank you”, but I wanted to try and sneak in an apology and some cuteness with Thomas and reader early on! </p><p>TW: <br/>None.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>You </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>A few hours had passed since you’d had dinner with the family, they’d introduced themselves as “Hewitt” to you.<br/>
<em> Okay so, there’s Charlie Hewitt, son to miss Luda, who does… something during the days. </em> You were laying in bed, looking up at the ceiling while repeating what had been said to you during dinner. <br/>
<em> Monty is a mechanic and miss Luda’s brother and… </em>You pause slightly when you get to Thomas, even though you’re not entirely sure why. </p><p><em> And Thomas… Thomas is a butcher, and also miss Luda’s son. And miss Luda tends to a gas station… <br/>
</em> You tried sleeping for about an hour after your repetition of names and occupations but failed and instead sat up. A pout emerging on your lips as you lightly tapped the mattress under you before you decided to get up and walk downstairs. Even though you’re not sure what to do downstairs, maybe you could sit on the porch or something.<br/>
On the top of the stair landing you noticed the faint whispers of the TV running downstairs. </p><p>Your curiosity picked in your stomach as you descended the stairs, avoiding that creepy step.<br/>
It was dark downstairs, except for the faint glow of said TV you were hunting through the night, keeping an eye out for who could be watching it. The room was empty, none of the old men nor Luda Mae was watching it. But you did hear snoring not far away from you. On your way into the room you found yourself reaching your hand out to guide yourself through the dark, fingers brushing against a table and then something… <em> leathery. </em><br/>
You stopped in your steps and grabbed a hold of it, trying your best to see it, hoping your eyes had adjusted in the dark. </p><p>You held it up, turning slightly to try and get the TV glow light it up more, getting closer to get more light and that’s when you realized what it was. <br/>
<em> Oh… It’s… it’s that mask.<br/>
</em>You hummed slightly out of curiosity to how this Thomas-man would look without it, but you quickly shook that thought away as you had already seemingly hurt his feelings once that day, so you decided to just hang it over the backrest of the same couch you curled up on.</p><p>You tucked your knees up to your chest and rested your chin on them and lazily watched the show that was on. It seemed to be some kind of… action? Or… a scary movie? You had no idea, honestly. <br/>
A few shuffling steps, a clank of glass against wood and something that sounded like panicked breathing alerted you to a presence in the room, and you looked in the direction they came from.</p><p>The man, Thomas, frantically turned in the dark, one of his arms swept across the table you had stopped by to pick the mask up and you realized what he was panicking about. You weren’t sure what to do at this point, but you picked the mask up and extended it towards his location. <br/>
“Here.”, you said weakly. He just stopped at your words, you couldn’t see him, the only thing you saw was a dark silhouette that moved closer ever so slowly. You noticed that when he almost came into clear view he looked down and covered his face in the crook of his arm, the other reaching almost blindly for yours. </p><p><em> Maybe he’s just really shy. </em>You thought as you put his mask in his hand before turning to the TV again. A small shuffling sound, a sigh of relief and new footsteps coming your way.</p><p>As he sat down in one of the lounge chairs across from you, you smiled sheepishly at him.<br/>
“Hi.”, you whispered, and turned your attention back to the television. “I’m sorry I took your mask.” you mumbled into your knees before the room descended into a heavy and thick silence, the kind you could probably cut with a knife.<br/>
He seemed to ignore you fully, and somewhere in your mind you thought you understood why. But you honestly couldn’t stand the crushing silence between you two. Only sound being the faint dialogue of the show, Thomas gnawing on his snack and occasional sound effect from the TV, so you decided to say something to ease it.</p><p>You silently cleared your throat, trying to make it seem natural, and you noticed he actually glanced at you for the first time since he had entered the room.<br/>
“Uhm…”, you started and jolted slightly as his head snapped in your direction, his brows furrowed. </p><p>
  <em> Woops… </em>
</p><p>“Y-y...You’re uh… Thom..as, right?”, your voice was low, not wanting to startle him again. This time, he stayed planted in his place on the chair and looked over at you. Seemingly observing you, you figured he was trying to determine if you were friend or foe before he slowly nodded at your question, and turned his attention to the TV again.<br/>
“Hi, Thomas.”, you smiled at him, and continued, “Is it… Is it alright if we uhm… talked?”, you really wanted to apologize for earlier, but also thank him for helping you with… whatever it was he had helped you with since your brain apparently had decided it didn’t want to remember it… and you were honestly curious about him. Something you couldn’t pinpoint drove you to him, he was mysterious. You wanted to know about his mask, about him. </p><p>Again, he nodded, letting out a small grunt that you guessed was associated with “yes”.</p><p>“I just… I wanted to… uhm… apologize.”, he turned his head when you said the last word and he raised an eyebrow, “I wanted to apologize for earlier…”, he kept his eyes on you, piercing your soul before they seemed to… relax, or at least you wanted to believe they did.</p><p>“I didn’t want to… hurt your feelings, it’s just…”, you let one of your legs down on the floor and started scratching on what looked like a small scab on your knee as you shrugged, “I just couldn’t, and… still can’t remember what happened to me.”, you looked up from your scratching and saw he was leaning forward on his knees fidgeting with a piece of his snack, listening to you with a focused look, “but… when I saw you in the hallway, I remembered you and I was just happy I remembered something, you’re all I can remember… I…”, you sighed, “I can’t even remember my own name.”</p><p>He let out a small, raspy “mmh” at your words, and you watched him as he rose from his seat, took one big step towards you and extended the hand he held what looked like beef jerky towards you, offering some.<br/>
You couldn’t help but giggle up at him when he seemed persistent in giving you a piece of dried meat after you’ve just come clean to him and apologized to hurting his feelings. <br/>
“Thank you, Thomas.”, your hand seemingly swallowed by his shirt. </p><p>It slipped down slightly from your wounded shoulder which reminded you.<br/>
“Oh, right…”, you said between your own gnawing at the piece he’d given you, “Do you… know who helped me with this…?”, you looked over at him as you moved more of the fabric out of the way to easier show him the stitched up piece of skin. <br/>
He looked over to the shoulder you were holding and nodded slightly before slowly extending one of his fingers pointing to himself and you could swear you saw him <em> grin </em>, but it might just have been shadows playing due to his mask.</p><p>“Did you do this?”, you glanced down at the neat stitching done to you.<br/>
“Wow… You know your sewing, Thomas.”, you looked back up at him, and your heart jumped slightly. </p><p>The TV suddenly flashed bright due to some kind of effect or whatever and it lit the entirety of the right side of his face up and made his eye shine a bright blue color. <br/>
You couldn’t help but give him a huge smile, making your eyes crinkle.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Thomas B. Hewitt</strong>
</p><p><em> I’m bored.<br/>
</em> His family had gone to sleep a few hours ago while Thomas stayed up to tinker at something, but after a while he got tired of that. He sighed and tried finding something to do. He wasn’t tired, and didn’t feel like going to sleep. <br/>
One thought of what he could do hit him but he just groaned when it would just end up with him having to clean up a mess and he was honestly way too lazy for that now.</p><p>So he decided to venture downstairs to watch some TV instead. </p><p>So, here he was slumped in a chair, head resting on one of his hands, lightly scratching his scarred up face. Sure, he hated how it looked, but if he was going to be completely honest, the itching was the worst part at times. He had taken the mask off when he entered the room and put it on a nearby table where it was easy to grab when he decided to leave.</p><p>
  <em> Ugh… I don’t like this movie, it’s so goddamn slow... </em>
</p><p>In the middle of deciding whether he should try to switch channels or not his stomach started grumbling at him. </p><p>
  <em> Are you kidding me… I just got comfortable. </em>
</p><p>He let out a heavy sigh as his head lolled backwards a bit before heaving himself up from the chair and trudging over to the kitchen, his bare feet only making small shuffling noises to rummage for something to eat.<br/>
<em> Oh, mama, I love you </em> , he let out a small happy moan to himself as he found a few pieces of beef jerky wrapped in some paper. He loved the beef jerky his mother made, even though he knew he was mostly not allowed to eat them because she saved them for special occasions. <br/>
But like all children, no matter how old they get, he’s the bratty son who doesn’t listen to his mother when she’s not around, and grabbed some. </p><p>With some pieces of jerky, and a glass of water he wandered back into the TV room, quickly throwing his eyes on the table where he had put his mask only for his heart to stop.</p><p><em> No… nono no. Where is it? </em> , he put his glass down to frantically look for it.<br/>
<em> I put it RIGHT here! Where’s my mask!, </em> he swiped his arm over the table.<br/>
“Here.”, a small voice spoke up and he looked towards it. The girl was here too. <em> She </em>had taken the mask from the table, a small anger building up in him. </p><p><em> Is this some kind of joke? </em> , but she just extended her arm and held the mask out for him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t laugh, didn’t taunt him. Just holding the arm out, he shuffled closer to her but stopped right before his face became fully visible only to tuck it into the crook of his arm and holding his other hand out trying to catch it. <br/>
And then he felt her just… put the mask in his hand.<br/>
He almost threw his midnight snack down and scrambled the mask back on his face, he sighed in relief after getting it snug against him again.</p><p>
  <em>...thanks...  </em>
</p><p>He picked the items back up again and continued into the room, she wasn’t looking at him. She kept her eyes on the TV as he slumped back into the chair again. It wasn’t until he had sat down that she turned to him and smiled slightly.<br/>
“Hi.”, she whispered before turning her head towards the TV again and mumbling something he really couldn’t decipher.</p><p><em> Why are you up?, </em>he thought to himself as he started gnawing at some of the jerky and forced himself to watch the TV with the shitty move rolling on it.</p><p><em>This is so awkward, please say something.</em><br/>
He was desperate. It was too quiet, the atmosphere too thick for his own comfort, and he was <em>used </em>to an awkward and pressed atmosphere, but this? Way too much.</p><p>He glanced over at her slightly as he heard her make a sound.<br/>
“Uhm…”, like she had heard his own inner prayer she said something and he snapped his head at her direction, pushing his brows inward.<br/>
“Y-y… You’re uh… Thom..as, right?”, there it was, that voice. Her voice. The voice he could admit to himself only that he actually liked, flowing like honey through the air. He just looked at her, a bit confused as to how she knew his name, but coming to the conclusion that either his mama had told her, or she had figured it out herself from context. </p><p>He slowly nodded his head to her question, not noticing her smile as she continued.<br/>
“Hi, Thomas. Is it… Is it alright if we uhm… talked?”<br/>
He hid his mouth behind one of his hands as he couldn’t help but to grin and almost laugh at that question.</p><p><em> Sure, we can “talk”, </em> he said internally but nodded and grunted to indicate “yes”, hoping she got the gist of his action.<br/>
“I just… I wanted to… uhm… apologize.”, Thomas turned his head towards the girl when he heard the word “apologize” and raised one eyebrow.</p><p>
  <em> Apologize? What for? </em>
</p><p>“I wanted to apologize for earlier…”, he kept looking at the dark shape that was this mystery girl on the couch, but actually relaxed a bit, she had lit his curiosity. People <em> don’t apologize </em> to Thomas Hewitt. <br/>
“I didn’t want to… hurt your feelings, it’s just…”, as she moved, so did Thomas. He put his glass down on the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to listen in to her words. He followed one of her hands as she started picking and scratching at one of the scabs that had taken its place at her knee.</p><p><em> Go on, I’m listening., </em>he replied to her internally, fiddling with one of his meat snacks.</p><p>“I just couldn’t and… still can’t remember what happened to me, but… when I saw you in the hallway, I remembered you and I was just happy I remembered something, you’re all I can remember… I…”, he was shocked. Taken aback at what she said.</p><p>
  <em> You… You were… happy to see me? </em>
</p><p>By now, he was starting to not trust you. This has to be a joke, there is literally no other explanation to this. It was a cruel joke put on by some idiots in town. He was awoken from his monologue by a heavy sigh coming from her.<br/>
“I can’t even remember my own name.”</p><p>The last sentence made his heart sting a bit. It must truly be horrible not knowing your own name. <br/>
“Mmh.”, it was raspy as all hell, sure. But for some reason he wanted her to know he listened to her. He looked down at his snack and decided to do something to show her it was alright, he accepted her apology and to show her he’s not mad at her. He rose up, took one step towards her and extended a piece of his favorite snack.</p><p>
  <em> Here, take it. It’s alright. </em>
</p><p>She giggled at him and he smiled behind his mask, knowing she couldn’t see it. She took it from his hand, his face heated up slightly as he felt her fingers lightly brush against his, something she didn’t seem to notice at all since her hand was absolutely covered by his shirt.<br/>
“Thank you, Thomas.”, he nodded at her “Thank you” and plopped himself down in the chair again, leaning back.<br/>
“Oh, right…”, her words were hidden behind a gnawing and chewing, and he looked over as she pulled the shirt down more and his heart almost jumped up his throat.</p><p>
  <em> Whaaat… What are you doi- </em>
</p><p>His mind relaxed when she pointed to the wound. “Do you… know who helped me with this…?”</p><p>
  <em> Oh that. </em>
</p><p>He nodded again and pointed to himself and grinned a bit, he’s always so proud of his work when it revolves sewing.<br/>
“Did you do this? Wow… You know your sewing, Thomas.”, he leaned back observing her, one of his legs swaying slightly, one arm thrown over the back rest, the other resting on this thigh. The shine from the TV betrayed him as it suddenly flashed bright, revealing a smile that made his own eyes crinkle.</p><p><em> Oh no… </em> </p><p>Was all he managed to think when he realized what was about to happen inside of him when she smiled back.<br/>
“Thank you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Vibrating Laughter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, this chapter is A LOT better than chapter 5 in my opinion, hahah.<br/>I'm just churning out chapters right now during christmas break, it's great!</p><p>Again; Thank you sooo much for reading! It's so much fun seeing the statistics and see that people like my little story. &lt;3</p><p>Oh! Regarding the name "Kit": This is mostly just a placeholder name, do not fear! It is still You/Reader friendly ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thomas B. Hewitt.</strong>
</p><p>Thomas was grumpier than usual today at work. When he’d arrived, his work station had been vandalized. There were snickers and giggles behind his back as he had to clean up his little corner of the slaughterhouse almost all morning. It was covered in trash. People had literally dumped at least one trash can all over his station, might’ve been two, even. Rotten food all over his bench, some stuck to his cleaver. Everyone thought it was hilarious to mess with the residence retard. <br/>It was one of <em> those </em>days. One of those days where he was - apparently - only at work as some kind of comical relief to lighten the mood of the otherwise gloomy workers, at least that’s what they had decided. </p><p>At one point the ones responsible for the mess he had to clean had even pushed one of the shy girls right into Thomas’ chest, making cat calls and whistling towards them as a way to mock both at the same time.</p><p>The girl because she was shy and cried easily, and Thomas because… well… he looked like he did.</p><p>He wasn’t able to properly start butchering until maybe an hour before lunch, his boss yelling at him a handful of times before that. </p><p><em> What did I ever do to any of you assholes…<br/></em>Not only did he have to clean up the entire morning, there wasn’t enough food at home so he couldn’t bring lunch… and his cleaver was getting dull. A mental note to bring it home the next day to sharpen it.</p><p>This. Was not. His. Day.</p><p><em> I just want to go ho- , </em>his inner sentence was interrupted by a hard dunk on his back, knocking a bit of air out of him.</p><p>“Hewiiiitt!”, one of the several bullies he’s had comes up with two of his friends holding his arms out wide, they’re smirking.</p><p>
  <em> So you did this.  </em>
</p><p>“Did ya’ like our <em> present </em> , Hewitt?”, he nods towards the trash can and starts laughing, “We got it specially for you.”, he chuckles before continuing, “Oh, and, I hope you don’t mind I take Laurie for myself, since you uh… wouldn’t know what to do with’er even.” A barking laughter erupts from the three of them at the end of his jab against Thomas, making everything personal. <br/>The end of his sentence makes Thomas turn towards them and glare down through his dark curls.<br/>The men take a step back, they can probably literally <em> feel </em>how Thomas’ anger starts boiling as he straightens up and flexes his biceps towards them. A clear sign they’re starting to royally piss him off. </p><p>He would never use his strength to physically hurt people, but he does know how to make them leave him alone, at least for a short period of time, they know he could crush their skulls if he wanted to. And they never go into fist fights with the giant.<br/>All they do is emotionally drain him, they make him know he’s different, not like everyone else, and that he never will be. He’s the village dumb animal and that’s his only purpose in life.</p><p>They laugh nervously as he stares them down.<br/>“Haha, you really are an animal, Hewitt.”, they just laugh as they turn and leave him alone in the now empty slaughterhouse. He plants his hands flat on his table and glances over at all the parts he has left to cut up before he can leave without getting reprimanded by his boss the following day and sighs heavily.</p><p>
  <em> I fucking hate all of you. </em>
</p><p>It’s dark out when he’s finally done with his work, <em> thankfully </em>, his dull cleaver made it so he could snag more pieces of rejected meat with him home. At least something good came out of this shitty day at work. More food for his - now - bigger family and he tried looking at that like a consolation prize as he lumbered home in the dark, letting his mind wander.</p><p>
  <em> I want a name for her. </em>
</p><p>Even if he didn’t want to speak to her, he still wanted to give her a name until she could remember her own, she couldn’t walk around with no name in the house. </p><p>
  <em> Sure, I’m not going to openly talk to her…  </em>
</p><p>He cleared his throat at that as a reminder for himself that he still had vocal cords. He made a conscious choice not to speak several years ago. But on lonely nights, or when he was alone - <em> and knew no one could hear him </em> - in general, he hummed, or spoke to himself, thinking aloud or mumbled reminders for only him to hear, to make sure his vocal cords were still there.<br/>The two words he had spoken in the barn a few days back the most he had actually spoken in… months, maybe years. His family had gotten used to his body language and mannerisms when they talked to him. </p><p><em> I can alwa- </em>, again, interrupted. But this time by a family of foxes running across the dirt road. He stopped and just stared at the bigger one as it stopped in the high grass in the ditch on the other side, looking over at a small collection of babies that sprinted across it after looking over at the giant in the distance.</p><p>He smiled as he figured out what to call her. </p><p>
  <em> Kit.  </em>
</p><p>He hummed slightly, picturing her in his mind. Her face, the kind eyes that always crinkled when she smiled at him or his family, trying out the new name to see if it would fit her face. </p><p>
  <em> Yeah. Yeah, I like Kit.  </em>
</p><p>He readjusted the bag he had thrown over his shoulder and kept trudging home through the night, a tired sigh leaving him as he started to see the outline of the big house in the distance.</p><p>The house was silent, obvious evidence that everyone else was asleep, so he made sure to walk as quietly as he could on his way to the stairs leading to the basement, snagging a few pieces of the leftovers and shoving them into his mouth on the way down to the damp and musty basement where the coolers were loudly brumming and vibrating. <br/>Alone, he seized the moment to talk to himself.</p><p>“<b>Let’s see…</b> ”. His voice was raspy, but deep, and vibrated throughout his body. He rummaged and rearranged in the freezer box to take out the packages whose date seemed to run out to put it on top of the ones he had brought today.<br/>“ <b>Pen… penpenpen…</b> ”, almost having to turn the entire basement over to find the one he usually uses - and mentally punishing himself for never putting it in one specific place - he scribbles down today’s date before putting them in the bottom of the box. As he stands and stretches he’s greeted with a series of tired pops in his spine. <br/>“ <b>Getting old, Thomas.</b>”, he mumbles before lumbering over to his basement corner. Not having the energy to climb the stairs.</p><p>He just wanted to sleep.<br/>Unbuckling his mask he rubs his hands all over his dried cheeks to ease the blasted itching all over him before kicking off his boots and laying down on the creaky bed. A yawn that transcends into a small, deep moan escapes him as he tucks one arm under his pillow and the other reaches under his shirt to scratch a spot on his stomach. <br/>“ <b>Kit.</b> ”, he says out loud to try it on his tongue. <br/>“ <b>Mmmh. Kit is good.</b>”, is the last sound that leaves the basement before his snoring takes over.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>You</b>
</p><p> </p><p>You woke up in your bed, not really remembering when you went to sleep, but you decided to cuddle up a bit under your blanket before the morning heat reached your body and you had to force yourself up out of bed. </p><p>As usual, it was quiet in the house. <br/>“It’s really starting to get lonely here…”, you muttered to yourself as you descended the stairs. You were greeted by a few piglets running around in the kitchen as you entered. </p><p>A yellow paper struck you in the otherwise white and gray kitchen.</p><p>A note.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Mornin’, dear. Breakfast is on the table.</p>
  <p>Love</p>
  <p>- Luda Mae.”</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>You looked up from the note and towards the table, and sure enough. There it was. A plate with a few sausages, a fried egg and a small piece of bread. You mentally thanked Luda Mae as you sat down, tucking a leg under yourself and started munching on your - now cold - breakfast while watching a few piglets running around.<br/>Occasionally you threw a piece of sausage at them which they happily ate. <br/>“I wonder why you live in here, piggies.”, you said to them as you downed the last of the meal. You hummed a bit at a thought before heading over to clean your plate and fork. </p><p>After drying your hands and putting the dishes away to dry on their own you turned on your heels and leaned back at the sink just looking around.<br/>“Now what…”, you giggled as you poked a pig with your feet and watched it twitch. “What should we do now, piggie?”</p><p>You sauntered away from the kitchen, into the dining room and just looked around. Taking in the homely - <em> but not the cleanest </em> - house you were in. You’ve never seen this before, never seen these people. But then again, maybe you weren’t even from around here… <br/>Everything before meeting Thomas in the barn was a blur, a darkness you really couldn’t remember. And right now, at this moment? You were happy you couldn’t remember anything. All you knew at this point was that you were relaxed.</p><p>You knew you’d been on the run, you remember the Box, but no details. Not your name, not where you came from, you knew an estimated age of yourself, but still no details. </p><p>You came from the darkness, yes, and Thomas was your light. Your beacon of hope. </p><p>Your venture took you into a room with a piano and a couch. You approached the piano and started tinkling on the keys, it was really out of tune and you couldn’t help but to laugh at how bad it sounded. But you shrugged and sat down in front of it and started poking the keys. Thinking you knew any kind of melody you could play, but it was fun nonetheless. <br/>After your solo concert you found yourself sitting in the grass outside, legs sprawled in front of you under a tree, the shirt you’d borrowed tickling slightly as a breeze caressed your skin and you closed your eyes.<br/>“This is nice.”, sure it was quiet, and sure you were lonely… and <em> bored </em>. But it was a relaxing kind of silence where you could lay in the grass if you wanted, take a nap on the porch if you felt like it. No stress and no need to live up to any expectations. </p><p>It isn’t until late afternoon that you finally notice the family starting to drop in. You’re on the couch in front of the TV lazily watching, not even paying attention to what is on when someone suddenly kicks the sofa.<br/>“Fuck you think you doin’?”, you jerk and look up at the grumpy man, Charlie, standing there with his hands on his hips shooting daggers at you. “Been home all day and not done anything ‘round the house.”, you don’t even get the chance to reply to him so you resort to shrinking in on yourself.<br/>“I uh…”, he interrupts you before you get any chance to defend yourself.<br/>“Listen here, girlie.”, he gets down low and right up in your face and grab it harshly to make sure you’re looking at him, “Mama might be treatin’ you good n'all, hell, she won’t stop talking ‘bout ya’”, he sneers and looks annoyed, “But you’re in <em> my </em> house, so you listen’ to my rules.”</p><p>His grip starts to loosen on you.</p><p>“So, ya’ see, honey. If you want to stay here, livin’ a good ass life, ya’ better do ya part, understand?”<br/>All you can do is nod weakly, after you do, he pats your cheek a little harder than he had to and gave you a tobacco smelling kiss on your forehead before he left. You mind starts hurting slightly, the treatment making something you can’t fully decipher before your eyes</p><p>You didn’t dare move off the couch after your meeting with Charlie. You kept your place on the couch until dinner was served. The other older man, Monty, had joined you, but you didn’t care. He didn’t care and acted like you weren’t even there. <br/>Dinner was just as uneventful, you all ate, but without Thomas. A knot started growing in your stomach when he wasn’t present, Charlie scared you already. And you had only been there for about three to four days. Barely talking to him, the few times you did meet him he shot you nasty glances. Eyes that traveled uncomfortably over your body. </p><p>After dinner was over and done with, Luda Mae invited you to have evening tea with her on the porch, and you, happy to accept, almost sprinted out to get away from mainly Charlie. He didn’t seem to dare say or do anything against you when Luda Mae was in ear shot.</p><p><em> Your house my ass... </em> , you thought when you’d notice that small detail.</p><p>So, here you were having a cozy evening with at least one you enjoyed spending time with. </p><p>“You seem tense, darlin’”, she spoke up from her crocheting and glanced at you. “Is everything alright?”<br/>You looked over at her and gave a crooked smile.<br/>“I’m… I’m alright. It’s just…”, you shook your head and proceeded to rest your chin on your hand. “Can I ask you something, miss Mae?”, you tilted your head. <br/>“Mmhm.”, she hummed as she went back to her crocheting, the tone of her voice seemingly knowing what you were about to ask about. </p><p>Thomas.</p><p>The two of you ended up talking about Thomas for several hours. <br/>Luda Mae told you she found him in a dumpster outside the very slaughterhouse he works in, how he from an early age suffered from a skin disease they couldn’t afford to treat due to her and her family already living on the verge of poverty. <br/>She told you he was heavily bullied in school, and when he was around twelve left it altogether. Charlie helped him get a job at the slaughterhouse and that’s where he’s been since. He’s a gentle giant to the ones he considers family, he’s strong but never abuses his power. </p><p>“So, uhm… is there any specific reason he doesn’t speak?”<br/>She folded her hands in her lap and sighed heavily at that question, she had been teary eyed all through Thomas’ story, but now it seemed they started falling.<br/>“Due to him takin’ a knife to his face it hurt him too much to speak, and even eat. He stopped eating for a long time. He utters a word sometimes, but… that’s it.”, her voice trembled and she took a deep breath to continue, “My poor boy stopped talking completely when he was around… fifteen. And I haven’t talked to him since then.”<br/>You did the numbers in silence before gasping slightly<br/>“He hasn’t talked for nineteen years?”, she shook her head slightly.<br/>“I do miss talkin’ to him. He always did have the best laugh I’ve ever heard.”, she smiled to you. “Ya’ know the deep, rumbling kind, I remember him always laughing until he folded over.”, Luda chuckled at the memory.<br/>You giggled slightly at that, picturing Thomas folded over in a deep laugh with his arms clutching his stomach.</p><p>It was a lovely image.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Welcome to the Hewitts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prrrffffttt... Here we go.</p>
<p>I feel like the small introduction to the story is now over and done.<br/>Let's see if we might get a small-time skip next chapter, who knows? I don't!</p>
<p>This chapter is mainly just some porch cuteness with Tommy to ease the transition from Stranger to Part of the Family &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>You</strong>
</p>
<p><em> Hands… sweaty, sticky hands traveling over your body. Leaving disgusting burning sensations where they’ve been, groping, pulling, pinching… invading. <br/></em> <em> A breath of alcohol, a tongue running over your cheek. </em></p>
<p>You wake up with a silent scream, a sheen of sweat covering your already hot body. </p>
<p>
  <em> A dream, it was only a dream. </em>
</p>
<p>Your breathing is heavy, your entire body is shaking. You need air, you need to get out of bed, you need to leave. A sudden urge to escape starts building in your whole body as you get up on shaking legs, anxiety and panic wreaking havoc inside you. The room you’re in seems to start shrinking, pushing you close to hyperventilating.<br/>“I need to get out of here.”, you start to panic even more and rush to pull Thomas’ shirt back on and hurry outside as fast but silently as you can as to not wake up the cacophony of snoring you hear on and close to the main floor. </p>
<p>Finally reaching the main door you pull it open with force and throw yourself at the screen door, slamming it a little harder than you intended.</p>
<p>Outside, you feel a sudden wave of nausea overcome you, making you clutch at your stomach to prepare yourself to vomit, though nothing ever happens. You brace yourself on the railing and try to steady your breathing as your body starts registering the fresh air that surrounds you.</p>
<p>“Oh god… Oh god… Breathe.”, deciding to focus on everything around you, you look around to ground yourself.<br/>The sun is starting to rise in the horizon and you figure it’s either really, really early or the sun rises early here. No one else is up and you didn’t bother checking the time on your way out.<br/>Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of the wooden railing under your hands, grabbing the railing harder to feel the hard material, the dampness of morning seeping into your palms. The chilly air of an early morning grazing your exposed legs making your skin pebble. The sound of a fox somewhere, a bird. Something moving in the grass close to the house. </p>
<p>Slowly you feel your pulse starting to relax, your breathing even out, nausea ebbs away. You let out a sigh at some point and feel your whole body relax. </p>
<p>Suddenly, you hear a small huff behind you and you turn to your right to see a large man standing in the doorway looking at you. Somewhere deep inside you, something flickers to life. </p>
<p>Happiness. There he was, your beacon of light. <br/>“Hi, Thomas.”, you whisper. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I did, I…”, you trail off as you see him half shrug and make an <em>“Eh, kinda”</em>-movement of his head. He didn’t move much from the doorway, only taking a step out to close both the main door and screen door, seemingly at peace leaning up to the door frame.</p>
<p>You turned your attention out on the yard in front of you again. <br/>The floorboards started creaking behind you before a low grunt was right behind you, turning you saw Thomas had sat down on the bench behind you, realizing this is the closest you’ve been to him since the incident in the barn. Being in a better state of mind you saw how huge he actually was, the bench almost disappeared under him. </p>
<p>Then he surprised you; he motioned you over to sit down next to him. You couldn’t read his intentions, but you didn’t feel any hostility from him, but he did seem shy and timid. Like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do either, or what he himself was doing even. But you accepted, and curled up into a ball next to him, making sure to not take up too much space so he could be as comfortable as possible on the small bench.</p>
<p>It’s quiet for only a minute or two before you speak up.<br/>“Do you know… what time it is?”, you looked up at him after finding your own comfortable position, resting your head on your shoulder. He seemed to think before first holding up three fingers on one hand, one the other, and five straight after.<br/>You just hummed while trying to decipher his makeshift way of telling you the time.<br/>“Oh… fifteen minutes past three?”, you asked when you figured it out, and he nodded. <br/>“Oh, I’m uh… I’m sorry for waking you up. I just... “, he cocked an eyebrow at you, nodding to continue. “I had a nightmare.”, you chuckled lightly at how childish you sounded and tried hiding a small bit of embarrassment.<br/>“I panicked and had to get some air.”, he nodded again, again surprising you when he seemed to try and… comfort you. He gently patted your arm with two fingers, as if he was scared of touching you. But you just smiled at him, appreciating his gesture.<br/>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>You both fall into silence for a while, you just listen to his muffled breathing as you sneakily stole glances of him. He had his eyes closed, head leaning back against the house, exposing his wide neck, one quick thought of what kind of sound he would make with your lips on it raced through your mind before you felt your cheeks warm-up and you shook your head to delete it. You doubted he was actually asleep, probably just enjoying the outdoors.<br/>You traced the shape of his uncovered face, trying your best to get any kind of sneak peek under his mask, the only thing you saw was a bit of his mouth, lips seemingly chapped but thick and soft to the touch. Your eyes traveled down his chest, his apron was gone but he had the shirt and tie you’ve seen him with. The tie was loose around his neck, his sleeves rolled up exposing muscular arms covered in scars, the sight broke your heart. </p>
<p>
  <em> Oh, Thomas… Don’t tell me you did that… </em>
</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, your thoughts are interrupted as Thomas suddenly stands up, and you jolt.<br/>“Wh… what’s wrong?”, you look up at him but he motions you to stay put with his hands and holds up one finger <em> “One minute” </em> .<br/>“O...okay.”, you’re dumbfounded as to what just suddenly happened and you just sit there looking around as he goes inside. </p>
<p>It takes a few minutes for him to return, this time with a worn-out notepad and a pen, he seems to smile behind his mask as the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. He sits back down next to you and starts scribbling something on the piece of paper and hands it to you. <br/>“What’s this?”, he points down to it and you guess he wants you to read it. <br/>“Kit?”, you look up and are confused, having no idea what he means by that three-lettered word. He nods excitedly and points to himself first.<br/>“You’re Thomas, yes…”, then he points to the note and to you.<br/>“And I’m… Kit…?”, you raise an eyebrow while the cogs in your brain turn. “Are you… giving me a name, Thomas?”</p>
<p>A smile, and a nod, before he takes the notepad back and starts writing again. His handwriting isn’t the best, his spelling and grammar are a bit off as well, but you figured it’s because he left school at an early age. But it’s both readable and understandable.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>“ <em> You need a name. Canot walk round without 1” </em></p>
</blockquote><p>The notepad leaves your hands again, one last sentence is written down.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> “You are family now”  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Thomas B. Hewitt</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thomas scratches the back of his head as he’s heading back down to sleep after a visit to the bathroom, he glances at the clock. </p>
<p>
  <em> Three. Three more hours of sleep, nice. </em>
</p>
<p>He cuddles up on the bed again, hugging his pillow and nuzzles into it. It smells like absolute shit, but he doesn’t really care at this point as he drifts off to sleep again. <br/>It feels like he’s been asleep for no time at all as he’s awoken by a slam coming from upstairs. </p>
<p>
  <em> Whu… Who left now? </em>
</p>
<p>He groans and tries to ignore that annoying feeling of curiosity that’s growing inside of him as sleep is starting to escape him. He turns over to his back and just stares at the ceiling in pure annoyance. </p>
<p><em> Fine! </em>he thinks to himself as he throws his hands up in defeat.</p>
<p>He drags himself out of bed and buckles his mask back on, he shoves his feet into his boots and trudges up the stairs carefully as to not wake his brother and uncle. Through the window out on the porch, he sees a figure hulking in the railing, head hung low, shoulders heaving. As he gets closer he starts to recognize the hair that’s resting on the figure's shoulder, one strand falling forward.</p>
<p>
  <em> Kit… </em>
</p>
<p>He slowly opens the screen door but decides to keep on standing in the doorway, letting out a quiet huff to let her know easily that he’s there. His heart rate goes up a tad when she turns to look at him. She has a certain look in her eyes he can’t fully place. She seems… happy to see him, but it’s not the… usual happiness his mama gives him. There’s something else in her eyes. <br/>“Hi, Thomas.”, her voice is low. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I did, I…”, Thomas just gives her half a shrug and cocks his head to the side.</p>
<p>
  <em> Yes, and no. I had to pee, anyway. But why are you up… </em>
</p>
<p>He just watches her stand at the railing, she turns from him and looks out to the yard. He follows her eyes and watches as the landscape becomes lighter by the second. He lifts an eyebrow in her direction, something about this doesn’t seem alright to him. He steps out of the doorway and closes the main door plus the screen door and leans up to it at first, but quickly decides to shuffle over to the bench behind her, cursing the stupid floorboards that give him away.</p>
<p>He lets out a low grunt as he sits down, this bench is so goddamn low compared to him. She turns and watches him.</p>
<p>
  <em> What? I wanted to sit down with you, come on.  </em>
</p>
<p>He motions to the seat beside him, hoping she gets what he wants her to do. And she does. He makes sure that there’s enough room, cramming himself to the armrest, making his right arm hang over the bench instead of pinching it between his fat thigh and metal armrest. She seems to do the same, curling into a ball, leaving a big gap between the two of you. </p>
<p>
  <em> Look, I’m not going to bite you. </em>
</p>
<p>It’s quiet for only a minute or two before she suddenly decides to say something, making a part of him relax.<br/>“Do you know… what time it is?”, Thomas glances over at her, trying to figure out how to tell her, when the idea strikes.<br/>He lifts three fingers on his right hand, one on his left, and then five straight after the one. </p>
<p><em> Three fifteen., </em> he tells himself internally like she could read his mind, his little charade making him feel like an actual idiot when she just looks at him as a small hum leaves her throat. <br/>“Oh… fifteen minutes past three?”, he nods. <br/>“Oh, I’m uh… I’m sorry for waking you up. I just…”, he raises an eyebrow and nods at her, wanting her to continue.</p>
<p>
  <em> You didn’t, go on.  </em>
</p>
<p>“I had a nightmare.”, a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth out of view from her as he sees her trying to hide her embarrassment. <br/>“I panicked and had to get some air”, Thomas nods again and feels a sudden urge to comfort her come over him.<br/>He slowly reaches out to her, but right before his hand lands on her arm, he retracts it, deciding to only pat her arm with two fingers. <br/>The smile she gives him makes his heart jump a bit.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” <br/>A part of him was surprised that she didn’t run away after he had touched her, even if it was only two of his fingers patting her slightly. But she seems content, relaxed.<br/>The air between Thomas and her was calm, the silence and occasional animal sound started to lull him into sleepiness again, and he leaned his head back against and closed his eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em> I’m just gonna rest my eyes… </em>
</p>
<p>After a few minutes, his eyes shoot wide open and he almost jumps off the bench.</p>
<p>
  <em> SHIT! NOTEPAD! PEN! </em>
</p>
<p>He starts to head inside before he turns to the girl and motions her to stay right there before he runs inside to rummage around the kitchen to try and find a notepad. <br/>“ <b>Come on, come on…</b>”, he mumbles quietly until he finds what he’s looking for and grabs a worn-out notepad and a stumpy little pen, and heads out again. He smiles big at the girl as he sits back down and starts writing out the name he had given her. His writing is so shaky this time, he’s nervous. </p>
<p>
  <em> I hope you like this name.  </em>
</p>
<p>He looks it over once and then hands it over to her.<br/>“What’s this?”, he lets out a silent huff and points to it.</p>
<p>
  <em> Read it…  </em>
</p>
<p>“Kit?”, she seems confused, she has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, and it shows. So, he nods first and proceeds to point to himself.<br/>“You’re Thomas, yes…”, then he points to the note, and up at her. Hoping she’ll understand now.<br/>“And I’m… Kit…?”, he sees in her eyes that she’s figuring it out. “Are you… Giving me a name, Thomas?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Yes!  </em>
</p>
<p>He smiles and nods towards her, and takes the notepad back to scribble down something else, and that’s when he realizes that his handwriting, spelling, and grammar are… worse than he thought. Usually, the only writing he does is dating on meat packages. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“<em> You need a name. Canot walk round without 1" </em></p>
</blockquote><p>When he notices she’s finished reading, he takes it back again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“<em> You are family now" </em></p>
</blockquote>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. A Cornered Bull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OKAY ITS HERE! From now on, the style of writing is going to change slightly, as you can see. I do hope it's still good though!<br/>You see a slight timeskip and Thomas is ANGY &gt;:(</p>
<p>Trigger warnings:<br/>- Blood<br/>- Busted up nose<br/>- Foul language - THOMAS WHO TAUGHT YOU THESE WORDS</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been about five weeks since Thomas had given you a proper name, a name that the rest of the family seemed to agree with since they shortly after started calling you by it.<br/></span>
  <span>These weeks have been tough, your nightmares returned several nights, every night has ended up with you on the porch until Charlie had wandered off to whatever it is he’s doing, before Monty heads off to the occasional towing job, and until Luda Mae had gone to her job at the gas station. They’re vivid, sometimes you hear voices calling you a name, but it still seems like your brain wants to block out any clear sign as to what the dreams mean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite this, you can’t ignore that creeping and ever-growing suspicion that the dreams show you where you’ve come from, who you truly are and what your real name actually is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if you’ve had your nightmares, you’ve gotten more comfortable around your new family. Charlie is still an asshole to you from time to time, just last week you ended up in a fight with him, resulting in you scratching his cheek before Thomas had to literally lift you off him. Monty sometimes still acts like you don’t even exist, except when you bring him food.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>To Luda Mae, you’re a daughter. She loves you, and whether it’s because you’re a woman and she loves having another woman around the house, or if it was because you’re you, you didn’t know. After your first full week, she had even given you new clothes, since you’d been walking around in Thomas’ shirt for a few days. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>You’re thankful for the fact that you’ve been appointed the family’s new housekeeper because this meant you got to clean. It’s taken you a few days, but finally, the house looked actually livable. </span>
  <span>Today though, you decided to sit on the porch in an old rickety rocking chair after having hung the laundry out to dry in the still warm evening sun, ice-cold glass of iced tea, and a random book you’d found in the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slight breeze running over your hair now and then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You were really absorbed in the book and only vaguely noted the heavy shuffling footsteps stomping their way up the driveway, the only notion you gave him before you heard a heavy slam to your side being a “Hey, Tommy.” with a lazy wave in his direction before turning the page you just finished, a slam that made you jolt hard enough to knock the glass off the porch railing and down in the grass. <br/></span>
  <span>“Thomas?”, you looked after him, another hard slam was heard from inside the house. And your eyes went wide at the realization. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, he’s in a foul mood. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You follow him inside, the door to the basement slightly ajar, you guessed he slammed it hard enough to break something. A chill ran up your back. </span>
  <span>During the weeks you’ve lived here, you’ve never seen him </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>angry before. Sure, you’ve seen him annoyed, with his usual blue eyes turning a darker hue and brows meeting in the middle and his lips turned down in a frown. But pissed off Thomas? Never.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the basement, you heard a clatter, stomping, things breaking and someone, or this time some</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was wreaking havoc in the basement. <br/></span>
  <span>This time, you didn’t see Thomas in your mind's eye, you saw something else. You saw his pure rage, you saw what his muscles could do. And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. </span>
  <span>Yet, you continued down the stairs, as quietly as you could. In the dim basement, you saw something fly across the floor and thunk itself in a beam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had thrown a vase in a random direction, and a piece of it got stuck in one of the beams.<br/></span>
  <span>“...Thomas…?”, you ducked quickly as you saw a bucket come flying in your direction and bounced off the wall behind you.<br/></span>
  <span>“THOMAS!”, you stood as quickly as you ducked to throw daggers at him as his shoulders heaved of heavy breathing. Even though you were scared of the raging behemoth of a giant you saw the silhouette off, you knew he would never hurt or harm you by will. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His emotions were all over the place. He was angry, and sad, and frustrated, and anxious, and worried and just… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fuck </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>do they mean with “closing the slaughterhouse”?!, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he kicked a small chair that crashed across the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was pacing over the basement floor. Furious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They can’t </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fucking </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>close the plant., </span>
  </em>
  <span>a vase broke. Thomas was seeing absolute red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gotten the news that they were closing down the slaughterhouse at the end of the month. Which meant he was out of a job. Which furthermore meant his family was not going to get money or food. His blood boiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They know this town depends on that place!</span>
  </em>
  <span> another vase was hurled across the floor, pieces of it sticking in one of the beams, and he vaguely heard the stairs creak as someone who he could only guess was Kit came down them. </span>
  <span>He’d gotten the news the same day that the meat plant was closing down, and for the first time in so many years, he went home when everyone else did. <br/></span>
  <span>At the same time he heard Kit call out for him he threw a bucket towards her location where she stood on the stairs, thankfully, she ducked.<br/></span>
  <span>“THOMAS!”, that’s when he stopped pacing back and forth and just stared at her. She never used his real name like that, she sounded just like his mama did when he had done something he shouldn’t, or when he didn’t come when she called him the first time. His blue eyes engulfed by rage looked straight into her own. <br/>The atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I swear to god if you take one step off those stairs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breathing was only amplified by his mask, making it sound like he was a raging bull, as his fists clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white by his side. His stance is wide. He felt and acted like a cornered animal at this point.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tommy.”, you tried to tell him, trying your best to bring him down a couple of notches, raising both your hands to try and show him you mean him no harm. <br/></span>
  <em>
    <span>If you want to act like an animal, I’ll approach you like one.</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you thought to yourself as you took one careful step towards him.<br/></span>
  <span>“I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>family, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy.”, you tried with another step. His massive bulk only moving with his breathing, hard, and huffing behind coarse leather. <br/></span>
  <span>“You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me.”, you said it without thinking when you were close enough to him that you could feel his anger around him. You tried putting your hand on his arm to do your best to convey that you meant no harm, but that combined with the end of your sentence he tensed even more than you thought was possible for this tightly wound wire of a man. And that’s when it happened. He turned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“TALK”?!, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he acted without knowing what he did and turned too violently when he felt Kit’s hand land on his arm, resulting in him accidentally knocking her over the face with his elbow, knocking her back a few footsteps. He turned when he heard her groan and whisper a silent “shit” behind her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when it clicked.<br/><br/></span>
  <em>
    <span>No… Kit, I-<br/></span>
  </em>
  <span>The look she gave him after reeling back and holding her hands over her nose to prevent even more blood to escape from her now busted nose sent shivers down his back and he was violently thrown back into reality. He just stood there processing what had happened. He had hurt her. He had hurt her </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your nose throbbed with pain, blood gushing down your hands and mouth. He had hit you hard with his elbow out of anger when he was only going to turn away from you.<br/></span>
  <span>You glared at him, your own anger starting to boil up out of pain. </span>
  <span>Deep inside you, you knew he didn’t fully intend on hurting you, it was an accident. But it still stung. Your heart ached at the realization that he had no control over his own body when he reached this level of anger. That not even you were fully safe from him when he got this angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You had no words for him, nothing to say. </span>
  <span>All you did was hide behind your hands, mumble a few curse words and shake your head as you headed up the stairs, leaving him alone in the now trashed up basement.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. AUTHOR UPDATE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I'M ADDING THIS CHAPTER AS AN UPDATE ON THE STORY</p><p> </p><p>THIS STORY IS TAKING A SMALL HIATUS FOR NOW. SINCE I STARTED WRITING MY WRITING HAS ADVANCED AND GOTTEN BETTER, SO I'VE DECIDED I WILL RE-WRITE THIS STORY. IT WILL STILL BE THE SAME STORY AND EVERYTHING, ALL I'M PLANNING ON DOING IS UPDATE THE WRITING IN IT BEFORE I CONTINUE ON IT.</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>STAY TUNED; I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS ONE!</strong>
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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